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 Storiesonline.net ------

   Melodic Redemption

   by oyster50

   CopyrightÂ(C) 2012 by oyster50

   ------ Description: A long time ago in a land far, far away, a young
combat engineer lieutenant had a very bad day.  Sometimes not ALL the scars
are on the outside.  Now he's out, gainfully employed and a friend's
sideline project has him working with a university orchestra.  Here's this
one girl.  No reason for a connection, but one happens.  she finds out
about him.  And he finds out about himself.
Codes: MF cons rom het 1st oral pett

   ------



   ------

   Introduction

   Men are supposed to be strong.  They're supposed to overcome and endure.
Former Army engineer Lieutenant Randall 'Stonewall' Jackson is one of those
who endured.  In Iraq, a bad day got him out of the Army.  Some of the
scars showed on the outside.  Some didn't.

   Stoney has nightmares.

   Stoney's out of the Army now, and working for an engineering firm in a
big city.  One of his buddies is parlaying industrial engineering knowledge
into sound recording and they need a guinea pig.  Actually, an orchestra
full of guinea pigs.

   While they're setting up equipment for the first full-scale orchestra
recording he meets Johanna.  'Jo'.  She's in the orchestra, playing her
flute, totally in love with her music.

   Now we have two of them.



   ------

   Chapter 1

   It happened again last night.  Somewhere around one AM I was sitting up
in bed, covers tossed off, sweating.  No the room wasn't hot.

   I would even be happy that I was worrying about bills or leaky roof or
plumbing or that funny noise the car makes.  Wasn't, though.

   I needed the sleep.  I have a job.  No, I don't stack jeans at Wal-Mart.
Late arrival to the engineering game.  I started right out of high school
and then Dad's business went belly up.  Rather than take out student loans,
I did ROTC and out of college went on active duty.  Ended up in Iraq.

   I thought that a graduate engineer would be one of those 'behind the
lines' job, but the title is 'combat engineer' and in Iraq after the big
battle, that whole 'line' thing went away.  I had the engineering platoon
of a tank battalion.  It's one of many things I've been wrong about. 
Tanks. Armor.  Combat arms.  Hot zones.  All that was part of my
participation.  And when the Iraqi government and army fell, there we were
in a makeshift base camp trying to keep the lid on a country that had lost
the strong man who kept the lid on various factions.

   Factions, groups, each thinking that the country would be better off if
two things happened.  The first was if THEY were in charge, and the second
was if WE were gone.  It took no time before we found that every cockeyed
group in the country harbored a grudge against us.

   Between us and other base camps were roads and just about every supply
we needed came in on trucks over those roads.  Naturally, it occurred to
our 'friends' that if you messed with the roads you messed with EVERYBODY,
including rival groups AND the Americans.

   A lot of people don't know whose job it is to make sure roads are safe
and mine and bomb free.  I have two words for you: Combat Engineers.

   I suppose that some people would liken it to a game.  Every morning we'd
run out the gate, me and a couple of my soldiers in a Hummer, a couple of
Abrams tanks, another Hummer and three soldiers.  A third Hummer with a
trailer full of blocks of C-4 explosives and other tools of the trade.

   The tanks were our watchdogs.  The Iraqi insurgents hated 'em.  Nothing
they had, RPGs, small arms, would do more than aggravate an Abrams and that
120 mm gun was a very definitive expression of 'don't do THAT again'.  We
usually had a couple of Apache helicopters up there somewhere, too, but
they usually watched US and a few other similar activities in a pretty good
sized area.

   The drill was simple: Run up the road, looking for the telltales of a
new IED.  That's Improvised Explosive Device.  Think a bomb or artillery
shell or two, buried in a hole, with a wire or a cellphone set up to
receive the command to blow up.  Then our worthy opponent would sit a
convenient distance away and wait for something to come by that was worth
blowing up.

   And we'd go out every morning and find the new bombs and de-activate
them.  In most cases, this was simple: Locate the bomb.  Put a few pounds
of C-4 next to it.  Blow it up.  Simple, on the surface, at least. 
Remember that 'remote' thing?  Our friends got better and better.  First
few weeks, we just looked for the wire.  Then they got wise and we had to
start doing some electronic things, jamming cellphone signals.

   Finally we got 'Robbie'.  Robbie was a robot, a little tracked thing
with a camera and a shotgun head.  Instead of me sending a real live human
(or me.  Don't ask your men to do something YOU won't do yourself) to go
poke in the vicinity of the bomb, we'd unload Robbie and control him out
there, look at what he saw, and decide on the next step.

   I won't bore you with the details of how we did what we did, but there
were some things that we keyed on.  Disturbed dirt.  Our main 'road'
wouldn't be a good goatpath in the states.  It was hardened mud.  Hardened.
And any time you saw something that wasn't hardened mud, we suspected a
bomb.  Most of the time we were right.

   Another one was the 'dead donkey' trick.  Donkeys were common transport
in the area.  Some of them, sadly, did not fare well in the occasional
firefight.  Donkeys know little about blast radii of mortar rounds and
penetrative capabilities of small arms fire, and the lack of knowledge
means, all too often, a dead donkey.  A dead donkey where we'd had some
vigorous interaction with our 'neighbors' was one thing.  The random
appearance of a dead donkey on the side of the road was reason for
suspicion.  You can hide a lot under a dead donkey, or inside a dead
donkey. And after a day or two under the Iraqi sun, a dead donkey provides
its own olfactory brand of security.

   And one fine day, a donkey played a part in the incident that ended my
military career.

   Lead team was me, my driver, a hulking black guy from South Carolina,
and our gunner, a Southern white boy manning our beloved M-2 machinegun in
a ring mount on top of the vehicle.

   Second Hummer, that was one of my engineering teams.

   And the last Hummer, with Robby in a little trailer.  No tanks today. 
Kinder gentler rules of engagement, you know.  The appearance of sixty-ton
behemoths on their streets was disturbing to the gentle folk therein.  I
missed my tanks, although I'd never admit that to the tanker that
frequented our after-hours gabfests.

   A pair of Apache helicopters swooped by noisily, scanning our route
before we left, then they disappeared into the distance with other fish to
fry.

   Out of the compound and up the road and I'm scanning ahead with
binoculars.  I see it, about the same time that SPC (that's 'specialist',
an enlisted rank in the army) Whiteboy said "Dead mule up there, El Tee. 
"El Tee" is the abbreviation for lieutenant in the Army, "LT", and it's as
good as 'Sir' in informal situations.

   "I got 'im, Smitty.  And that's not a mule, it's a donkey.  You know the
Quran forbids mules."

   "Mule, donkey, whatever.  He's fresh from yesterday.  You think?"

   "I think we send Robby to look." I spoke on the radio and out column
halted.  The guys in the last Hummer unloaded Robby and one of them came up
with the controller in his hands, running the little robot.  I stood beside
him, looking at the camera's screen.  The little tracked 'bot whined and
bounced up the road the hundred and fifty yards to the target donkey.  The
operator panned the camera.  Nothing.

   They ran Robby around the other side, the four legs of the donkey
stiffly protruding.  More camera viewing.  Nothing.  No disturbed earth. 
NO incision or open gut where the donkey may have been loaded.  However...

   "Five pounds of C-4 ought to make sure," I said.  "Bring Robby back and
let him set it."

   Whine bounce shuffle and the robot was back.  One of my soldiers prepped
the charge, including the detonator, set it on the robot, handy for its arm
to pick up and place, and then with the charge set, the robot would back up
a safe distance and pop the charge.  The donkey would mostly disappear, and
if there was a nefarious device, it would either explode or its presence
would be revealed in the new crater.

   BOOM!  New crater.  Bits of donkey fluttering wetly down, completing the
circle of life, and after the dust and smoke cleared, the resulting crater
showed no signs of any bomb.

   A thought entered my head.  Decoy.  And from my youth in the marshes
hunting ducks, I knew that when you set a decoy, you do it so your quarry
comes in where you want them.

   "Mount up and MOVE!" I shouted.  My shouts coincided with the sounds of
the first incoming mortar rounds.  And these guys knew what they were
doing. That wasn't surprising.  We, the coalition forces, had literally
torn apart the Iraqi army without killing everyone nor confiscating their
weapons.  A lot of ordnance had disappeared simply because it was all over
out there and we couldn't collect it all.  And of all things, a mortar tube
looks like a piece of pipe unless you look closely and the whole stinkin'
country was an ammo dump.

   And right now some of that stuff we missed was raining down.  Fortunate
thing: They didn't have the road zeroed, so the first rounds were a couple
of hundred yards off target.  Unfortunate thing: Whoever was calling
corrections could both SEE us AND he knew what he as doing.  I was in the
middle of the makings of a paragraph in a war report.
In the Hummer I was on the radio.  "Panther base, this is Shovel Six. 

We're taking mortar fire."

   "Roger, Shovel Six.  Guns is on the horn to Divarty right now.  We're
sending the QRF." 'Guns' was our artillery forward observer.  Divarty was
the division artillery and they had some technology that would pinpoint the
origin of the projectiles fired at us and relay that information to some
artillery unit that had a good shot at the target.  The QRF was the quick
reaction force, a little party of tanks and armored personnel carriers that
would show up to overpower any sticky situation.

   Trouble was, our situation was degrading faster than any hope of either
development helping us.  The second and third rounds of the mortar fire hit
the road behind us.  Spotter rounds.  The next one was close enough for
mortars.  We were screwed.  A dozen (I know.  I counted) rained down.  The
trailing Hummer was on its side, burning.  The leader Hummer, mine, lifted
in the air and slewed sideways at an angle that told me it wasn't going
anywhere.

   Smitty was slumped down in the gunmount, dark wetness spreading down his
side.

   "Unass this thing," I told the driver.  "Help me get Smitty."

   We were wrestling with Smitty, every move we made provoking sharp cries,
but I could smell smoke and I figured that pain was a better alternative to
roasting in a burning vehicle.

   The heavy machinegun on the second Hummer opened up as we dragged Smitty
to the roadside.  I saw flying mud brick where the fifty-caliber bullets
worked over a doorway.  There was a dead, VERY dead Iraqi in the door, an
RPG thrown into the street in front of him.  But there were several others
running out of other buildings, all still a hundred meters off, and my
soldier in the middle Hummer was the only one in position to do anything
about it.

   Until the first of three RPG rounds impacted his Hummer.

   Davis and I had Smitty behind a bit of roadside debris and between us we
had two M-16 rifles against at least a dozen insurgents who were screaming
praises to Allah as they rushed forward carrying AK-47's and a couple of
RPG's.

   "Fuckety fuck fuck fuck," I spat, trying to target the nearest.  Davis
was doing his best to match me word for word and round for round.  He
emptied out his rifle before I did and did a fast magazine change, and
that's when the RPG hit the pile of debris in front of us.  Smitty didn't
know it, being unconscious and looking pretty dead.  Davis was on his back,
blood puddling in the dirt below him.  I rolled back over, sighted on the
nearest insurgent, and pulled the trigger.  Nothing.  I rotated the rifle
to clear the stoppage and saw where a steel shard had trashed the aluminum
receiver of my rifle.

   "Fucked.  I am TRULY fucked," I said, then I saw Davis' rifle.  I tried
to crawl and that's the first time I realized that I was hit.  Left leg no
workee.  Right leg.  Push.  Grab rifle.  Sight.  Dirty white pajamas and
black wool vest.  Squeeze.  Again.  He stopped.  Next target.  Squeeze. 
"Shit!" Flip switch to 'burst' and catch the next one.  Oh shit! 
Motherfucker with an RPG.  I'm boned.  Shoot!  He fires at the same time I
do and the rocket hits behind me and he's out of the game.  His buddy,
though ...  I'm on my back, blood in my face.  Mine.  Can't see.  Left hand
won't get to my face.  Right hand.  Wipe.  Grab rifle.  Turbaned, bearded
face, with a big-assed knife in his hand.  I lift the rifle.  One trigger
pull.  Three rounds, three hits.  And I'm out.

   The next thing I remember is waking up under bright lights, naked,
wrapped in a sheet, IV's in both arms.

   "Welcome back, lieutenant," a nurse said.  "Doctor, he's back."

   "I hope he's ugly," I croaked.

   "Who?" the nurse asked.  "The doctor?"

   "Yeah," I said, "Because you look like an angel." Then I realized I
wasn't seeing out of my left eye.  Dark.

   The doctor walked up, mask dangling off an ear.  "Lieutenant Jackson,
welcome back."

   I breathed.  Oxygen cannula was at my nose.  "Glad to be ...  Where?"

   "Twenty-first Evac.  But not for long.  You're going to Germany on the
next flight out."

   "How long?"

   "Maybe eight hours."

   I closed my eyes for a second.  "The others..."

   "Not sure.  I got SPC Smith in here.  He'll be on the plane with you. 
There's a PFC Lemmon.  He'll go back to his unit in a week.  Same with
Sergeant Graves."

   Lemmon and Graves were in the last Hummer.

   "Your commander is coming in by chopper.  He was hoping you'd be
conscious.  Now rest.  They'll bring 'im to you when he gets here."

   Despite the pain and the question of my left eye it wasn't difficult to
drift back into the mists.  I drifted along between sleep and wake until I
heard, "Lieutenant Jackson's over here, Captain."

   I opened my eye.  My company commander.  "How're doin', Jackson?" he
asked.

   "I've had better days.  How bad..."

   "You?" He looked for a nurse.  "How bad?"

   "Uh, I'm not supposed to..."

   "Dammit, lieutenant," he said to the nurse, "This is MY lieutenant. 
You're getting ready to send him off.  How IS he?"

   She sucked in a breath.  "Blast broke his left leg.  Shrapnel lacerated
left leg.  Lacerated left side.  Lacerations and fracture left arm.  Scalp
laceration.  Abrasions to left eye.  He'll..." she looked directly at me.
"Sorry, Lieutenant Jackson, YOU'LL recover just fine.  You'll have scars."

   She was right.  I did have scars.  Captain Hopkins added a few more. 
"Your patrol got torn up pretty bad.  There were nine of you.  Four
survived.  You.  Sergeant Graves.  Private Lemmon.  Specialist Smith. 
Davis made it back here but..."

   "Dammit.  Fuck fuck fuck!"

   "You did everything right, Stoney." Stoney.  Short for 'Stonewall', as
in 'Stonewall Jackson', the Confederate general.  Nobody ever called me by
my first name, Randall, unless they were strangers or I was in trouble.

   "I let my guard down.  They're getting smarter and I didn't account for
it."

   "Uh, you accounted for a number of them.  There were seven there when we
got there.  Blood trails where they hauled three more off, at least. 
Sergeant Graves says he can write up the report."

   "Sir, we need to get him ready for the flight," the nurse said.  "I'm
sorry."

   "It's okay," Captain Hopkins said.  "Jackson, I don't know if I'll get
you back, but look, we'll send your personal effects along after you."

   "Thanks," I said.  "And Cap?"

   "Yes?"

   "You're gonna write the letters for those guys?"

   "Yes.  I guess I have that to do."

   "Please say that they were a good, brave, bunch.  Every one of 'em."

   Two months later I was walking well.  The hair was growing back where my
head had been shaved, but there was a scar where a flap of my scalp had
been blown loose and re-attached and it extended downward across my left
eyebrow, ending on my cheek.  You didn't have to be a rocket scientist to
know that some serious shit had happened to my head.  That showed.

   What didn't show was the pink tracks on my torso, or the suture lines
down my thigh.  The scars on my left arm showed.  But it all worked.

   Headaches.  When somebody goes after you with multiple explosive devices
at close proximity, it shakes your brain in your skull.  For a month the
headaches were severe.  They slowly tapered off as physical therapy brought
use back to leg and arm.

   And during this time, the Army decided that unless I wanted to make a
big case out of it, they'd just as soon call it quits between me and them
and would I be happy to take a VA disability check and a Silver Star and
thankyouverymuch.

   Silver Star.  About that.  I didn't feel like any kind of hero, but
Sergeant Graves' after-action report had me sounding like one if you knew
how to read between the lines of the stilted Army phraseology.  "Took
charge of a rapidly deteriorating situation and delayed enemy action by
individual fire, protecting a wounded soldier until he himself was rendered
unconscious." Stuff like that.

   I didn't feel like a hero.  I felt like a guy who should've pulled his
head out of his ass and seen what was going on.  Five good men.  Good men.
How clichĂ(C)'.  I don't know about 'good'.  How 'good' is ANY random bunch
of young adult males.  They were profane, loud, subject to fucking off,
shirking, all the rest of the expected activities.  But when you said
'Mount up!' they did.  And they were MY men.  My responsibility.  And they
were dead.

   Also got a letter from Sergeant Graves:

   LTI'm dictating this letter because I broke both arms when that first
mortar round flipped our Hummer.  I'm glad I got out.  I'll be okay but
it's going to be a while.

   We caught hell, sir.  If you hadn't seen what was happening when you
did, we would have lost the whole unit.  I wrote you up in the after action
report and told them what you did.  That one motherfucker with the knife,
you blew him away before he started hacking on you.

   You got seven or eight of them before you quit.  I thought you were
dead, but when the QRF and the medics got there, you were still alive.  I
think that when you stopped moving though, the ragheads thought you were
dead, so they were coming after me when the Apaches showed back up.

   I heard you were headed to Germany.  I suppose you won't be back.  I
will look you up sometime.

   And just so you know, lieutenant, you did good.  And I don't give that
compliment easy.  You know we've had our moments, you and I.

   Anyway, best wishes.

   Harland P.  Graves Sergeant First Class Combat Engineers

   Graves was right.  He had eighteen years in the army when he got saddled
with me, a second lieutenant fresh out of the Engineer Officer Basic
Course, and the battalion commander told me that I would be wise to filter
any bright ideas I might have through eighteen years of experience that
Sergeant Graves brought to our party.

   But here I was.  When I was very tired, I did still limp a little.  And
forever when I look in a mirror I will see the pink scars to remind me of
that day.

   Engineering degree.  Military experience.  Even a medal.  I went home,
lived at Mom and Dad's for a few wonderful weeks while I searched for jobs.
Wasn't much of a search.  Applications don't have to be mailed these days.
Nor do electrical engineers wait by phones for long.  I knew what I wanted,
though.  Biggish city.  Engineering house.

   A week after the application went in, the call for interview came.  I
went.  Came home.  Informed Mom and Dad of my new job and the fact that I
would be a hundred and fifty miles away and yes, I'd come home often
because I know how Dad hates the traffic there.

   Apartment.  Okay.  Something that didn't pop up on the radar:
Forty-foot, thirty year old sailboat, tied up in a marina off a little
bayou an hour's drive from the center of the city.  Refuge.  Powerboaters
get on a boat to go someplace.  When a sailboater gets on his boat, he's
already there.  My refuge: forty feet of old fiberglass, wood and aluminum.

   Engineering work for entry-level engineers is drudgery.  I drudged.  I
was serious about it, though, and before long I was getting out to look at
things and make some judgment calls and recommendations.  Fearless,
somebody said.  I can do 'fearless'.  The worst boss can't compare with
some Third-World whack-job with a sword in his hand bent on having you star
in a YouTube beheading video.

   And friends.  One of my fellow engineers was an absolute sound-recording
nut.  He had concepts of digital record systems that he thought would be
marketable.  I was doing some interesting things with fast data collection
for controlling complex industrial processes.  Together over cups of bad
coffee we came up with some schemes that involved repurposing some of my
remote data concentrators with his core computer storage.  A professor at
his alma mater tied him into a couple of really good computer science
majors who could put together the big blocks of the software.  We were off
to the races.

   A couple of weekends in his apartment, setting up my microphones and
data hubs with his monster of a computer and we were determined to test
things out.  A conveniently willing garage band gave us a run with six
microphones.  That was ONE of my hubs.  We needed a bigger field to play
with before my buddy would be happy with his testing.

   "Dude," the lead guitarist for the garage band said, "I have connections
with the university orchestra.  Want me to ask?"

   "Orchestra?" Eddie said.

   "Yeah, you know, violins, oboes, bassoons 'n' shit.  Orchestra." He
grinned.  "I used to be second violinist.  But you could set up, like, the
ULTIMATE recording setup for an orchestra.  Like a mike for each section.
One for the violins by section.  Violas.  Clarinets.  Flutes.  You get the
picture."

   "Can we try that?" I asked Eddie.

   "How many of those hubs?  Mikes?"

   "I have six more hubs.  Gives us forty-two mikes.  Can your computer
handle that?"

   "Piece a'cake," he said.  "Reconcile yourself to the nanosecond, bud! 
And parallel processing."

   We turned to Jimmo.  "Get us a chance to talk to somebody."

   Eddie did indeed go meet with people with the university's music
department.  Came back to the office.  We were in the lunchroom.  "It's
perfect," he said.  "They have a chamber orchestra.  Just the right size to
put a mike in front of EVERY instrument.  Those things you have, they're
ultra-directional.  We gather everything.  Stuff it onto the hard drives.
Sort it out, mix it after the fact"

   "I know how it's supposed to work."

   "Yeah, but they asked for something, dude," he said.

   "What would that be?"

   "If we work things out and they get saleable copy, they retain
copyright."

   "Makes good sense to me," I said.  "Are they any good?"

   "You're picky, buddy.  I know what's on your iPod.  I don't know if
they're the Israel Philharmonic, if that's what you mean.  But they have
some brilliance."

   "Brilliance?"

   "Yeah, they have this curly-headed blonde kid that plays trumpet.  He's
GOOD.  And a flute-player."

   "Flautist," I corrected.

   "Okay, flautist.  Whatever.  She's good, too.  We can get something that
will give my equipment and your equipment a workout, and we can show them
how to get good product out of what they play."

   "When?"

   "They're prepping for the first fall concert.  We can do tomorrow
evening.  Go straight there after work.  Is that okay?"

   "Yeah.  Let me check my social calendar."

   "You don't HAVE a social calendar, buddy."

   Yeah.  About that.  He's right.  I was the good guy you could call to
take your cousin out when she was in town.  Or your sister.  Anything past
the kiss good night.  Nope.  I wasn't THAT innocent.  But It just wasn't
me. And I was more or less happy.  Actually, since the Day, the scar was a
pretty scary thing.  The Army had offered some plastic surgery to lessen
the impact of the scarring.

   Still, I got stares.  One history major from the university sat with me
for coffee and told me about Prussian saber scars.  I thought that just
maybe we were getting somewhere.  I mean, if a girl thinks of your
disfigurement as a sort of historic artifact, you're getting somewhere,
right?  Wrong.

   So Monday night I loaded up half the equipment into my SUV and Eddie
loaded up the other half.  When four o'clock found us, we were slipping out
ahead of the crowd, headed for the university music department.

   We backed up to a door near a practice hall and slipped inside.

   Eddie led the way.  We found the harried professor of music in his
office.

   "Doctor Greenlee, this is Randall Jackson.  We call 'im Stonewall.  Or
Stoney.  Uh, Stoney, this is Doctor Robert Greenlee." I shook the offered
hand.

   "Doctor Greenlee..."

   "Bob," he said.

   "Bob, thanks for giving us a chance to use you as a guinea pig."

   "Oh, it's not me," he said.  "You have my whole chamber orchestra."

   "I hope we can give your orchestra to the world," I said.  "Music should
be shared."

   "I like that.  Let me unlock the door so you guys can set up."

   We hauled in cases of equipment and worked together stringing cables and
setting up stands with little microphones tied to little processor units.
At the computer, Eddie started tracking and porting my field devices.

   "We'll need to 'range' them when we get the musicians," he said.  "A
chamber orchestra has a different dynamic than a garage band."

   "Gotcha," I said.

   "Let's see the musicians."



   ------

   Chapter 2

   "Bring 'em in," I said.  "I wonder how the new rigs are going to work.
Video's a lot of bandwidth to add." My latest iteration of the individual
sensor heads included tiny, almost state of the art 'lipstick' cameras.

   "We'll see.  I ran the calcs and we should be close.  If we bog down,
then we can shut down some of the video channels."

   "Yeah, but you have to do that in the set-up or in real-time."

   "Let's play with it," he said.  "Bob, you can bring on the herd."

   Bob laughed.  "Don't let 'em hear you say that.  They think they're an
orchestra.  Who knows, in a couple of months, they will be.  Right now
they're just twenty-odd bits of varying talent levels."

   He opened the door and the musicians filed in against the wall, opening
cases and assembling instruments, then took their places and started
arranging sheet music.

   "Okay, gang," Bob said from the conductor's podium.  "You see that we've
got some recording equipment in front of you.  It's like this.  A couple of
engineers are developing a fast multichannel recording system using off the
shelf technology so it'll be affordable.  I offered them the use of YOU for
guinea pigs in return for copies of any useful records they might obtain.
Of course, that falls on YOU to produce useful sounds."

   He motioned us forward.  "This is Edward Stumff, Eddie, and this is
Randall Jackson, Stoney, like in Stonewall.  They're engineers with an
"Idea" like engineers get from time to time." He turned to Eddie.  "You
have the conn, cap'n."

   Eddie stepped up onto the podium.  "Okay folks, here's the deal.  In
front of each of you is a sensor head.  It does a bang-up job of sound
recording, and Stoney has added video to see how that works.  Each sensor
goes to a separate digital file and all the files are time-stamped and
coordinated.  At the end of the recording session, we have a master, from
this tall stand up here in front, and we have a track with the sound and
video from each of the other stations.

   One of the orchestra members raised a hand.

   "A question?"

   "Yessir," the young man said.  "Your system, don't the mikes get too
much bleedover from the nearby instruments to do individual channels?"

   Eddie turned to me.  "Stoney, you're the hardware guy.  Take that?"

   "Sure," I said.  "The mikes are very directional.  I took an off the
shelf direction mike and added a sleeve to make it a little more
directional.  So don't worry about your neighbor harshing your style."

   Laughs and giggles.

   Eddie started again.  "Okay, now we've tested this setup on a smaller
scale with a garage rock band, but this is our first test with this many
channels.  And the dynamic range is different for an orchestra."

   "No shit!" came a sotto voce comment.

   "Yeah, I know that's obvious and YOU know that's obvious, but the magic
boxes don't know, so the first thing we have to do is go around to each
sensor and get you to play a little bit to get our levels straight on the
setup."

   That hand went up again.  "Are your mikes frequency dependent?"

   My question again.  "They're good from outside the human audibility
range and they're essentially flat across that range.  If we need to filter
anything, that's in Eddie's magic box, mostly software.  Digital signal
processing technology is making huge leaps.  That's part of what we base
this setup on.  So we can do piccolo to contrabass with the same sensors.
Any other questions on the hardware?"

   No more questions.  We got started.  Eddie sat on a stool behind his
HUGE monitor with a headset on.  I had a headset too, so we could
communicate without shouting across the studio.

   I went to work, going to each player in turn, asking for a little
sample. First violin.

   "Just give me a few seconds of something," I said.

   This was a guy.  Serious-looking.  Bushy brown hair.  "My choice?"

   "Yep."

   He played a passage.

   I tapped my headset.  "Got that, Eddie?"

   "Got it."

   I went to the next one, and the next, back into the orchestra.

   And deep in the middle, I came to the woodwinds.  And a flute is a
woodwind.  And in this orchestra, the flute was in the hands of a striking
creature, blue-eyed, redheaded, and not 'almost' red hair, but fire-red. 
And an alabaster complexion.  And prominent freckles.  And a smile.

   "Your turn," I said.

   She smiled, put the instrument to her lips, and trilling, bouncing,
lifting.  She released the last flying note and lowered her flute.

   "That's cheating," I said.

   "What's cheating?" she asked.

   "You're playing a flute, young lady.  And that's a passage out of a
Mozart clarinet concerto.  What, transposed a third up?"

   To her left was a black girl with an oboe.  "He got you there, Jo."

   'Jo'.  Now I had a name.

   "So Mister Stoney, you want another one?"

   "You want another?" I asked Eddie.

   "Sure," he said.  "But we got a lot to do."

   "Okay, Miss Jo, let 'er rip."

   The blue eyes, the smile, the flute came up and another happy, lilting
piece.  "Better?"

   "Yes ma'am," I said.  "Flute passage from the first movement of
Beethoven's Seventh."

   She was smiling, but I felt her gaze burning on my facial scar.  "Since
when do engineers know music like this?"

   "Long story," I said.

   Moving to the oboe player next to Jo, I said, "Your turn." I felt
fingers tap my shoulder.  I turned.

   "Stoney, what do you call this setup you guys have?"

   "Eddie calls it the Albigensian." I figured that word would be enough to
get an 'Ohhhh".

   I got instead, a giggle.  "Kill them all, God will know his own."

   I smiled.  "Or as we used to say in my misspent youth, "Kill 'em all and
let God sort 'em out.  We collect everything and let the editors work out
who comes forth and when."

   She smiled.

   "Okay, Miss oboe, let's do it."

   I finished my task.  Bob took the podium and they began playing,
practicing, working.  I pulled up a spare chair and watched over Eddie's
shoulder.  The big monitor came in handy.  He could pull up both video and
sound graphics on any one of the various sensor heads.

   "Here's your flute player," he said.

   I watched.

   "She doesn't stop smiling.  Watch."

   I watched.  When her flute left her lips, the corners of her mouth
turned up in a smile and it wasn't contrived.  Her eyes went with it.  When
she played, the smile was still there, hidden a bit by the instrument.  And
in the flash of a moment, they got to a rest in the music, she pulled her
flute away from her lips, went back to her smile and looked directly into
the camera.

   We got a treat that session, too.  There was a trumpeter, a young man
named David who was selected to do a solo piece, in his case a Haydn
concerto, and to my pleasant surprise, my redheaded flautist was also a
featured soloist.  She chose a Quantz concerto.

   After the session ended, we got help in putting away the equipment from
several students and questions from many more.  Eddie was off discussing
scheduling with Bob and I was looking at some of the recordings.  I felt a
soft tap on my shoulder.

   "Hi, Mister Stoney." I turned to find myself eye to eye with Jo.

   "Just plain 'Stoney', please."

   "Okay, Stoney, then.  Did you get anything good?"

   "Got everything, good, bad or indifferent," I said.  "Wanna see YOU?"

   "I'm almost afraid to look," she said.  "I don't know how I turn out on
camera."

   "They're pretty good cameras, so you turn out just like real life."

   She smiled.  "Then let's look."

   With a click of the mouse, I pulled up her channel.  "There!"

   Another smile.  "Maybe not too bad.  What's it sound like?"

   "Put these headphones on.  We don't want to disturb people."

   She looked charming in headphones, like some high-tech angel.  I clicked
a few more times.  "This is your audio channel."

   "Not bad.  And you're right.  The other instruments disappear."

   "Okay," I said, "Here's the master track from that tall mike up front."
I was playing the segment of David's trumpet concerto.  I knew that it had
what I considered to be a great flute passage.

   "Watch this," I said.  "I can take YOUR track, and turn a Haydn trumpet
concerto into a Jo's flute concerto with some guy playing a trumpet in the
background." I added her channel to the master and turned on David's
channel and subtracted it.

   She giggled.  "You'd kill 'im if he saw that.  He's kind of full of
himself." She looked over her shoulder to another girl standing, obviously
impatient.  "Oh, I gotta go.  Ride's waiting.  Thanks for showing me." And
she left me with that smile embedded in my mind.

   Eddie returned.  He showed Bob some of the same things I had just showed
Jo.

   "I'm impressed," Bob said.  "You're taking all the mixing capabilities
of a sound studio and digitizing them.  You don't bring the music to the
studio, you bring the studio to the music."

   "Yep," Eddie said.  "So can we work together this semester?"

   "How's that going to work?" Bob asked.  "The two of you have real jobs.
Normal hours.  When our classes are."

   "But don't you do special sessions like this?"

   "About once a week, for our dedicated musicians."

   "Can we work with them then?"

   "Okay.  But will you eat up time like tonight, setting up and doing
level checks?"

   "Nope," Eddie said.  "Just like stuff on your computer.  We have it as a
configuration file, now.  As long as we don't change geometry, you know,
height and distance, we're good."

   "Then let's go ahead and work together."

   And that's how that phase of my life started.  Once a week, Eddie and I
would show up, set up, sit through practice, and tear back down.

   On the second session, I smiled at Jo and she smiled back, and we found
a reason to talk for a little bit.

   Third session, more smiles.  And at then, she came up to me.  "Stoney,
you drive to these things in your own car, right?"

   "Yeah, why?" I asked.

   "Carrie had to leave early.  That's my ride.  I need a lift."

   "You live in this state, right?"

   She giggled.  "Of course."

   "Then I'll give you a ride.  You got everything?"

   She lifted her flute case in one hand, her music folder in the other. 
"Yep!"

   "Glad you don't play tuba," I said.  "Come on." We walked out together.
I didn't know that we were being watched.

   "Nice car," she said.  I drive a late model SUV.  It stays clean.

   "Thank you," I replied.  Gives me what I need.  Reliable.  I can haul
stuff."

   "Like your sound gear?"

   "Yeah, that.  Groceries.  Boat stuff."

   "Boat stuff?"

   "I got an old sailboat.  Sometimes I go away for the weekend, stay
there. Take 'er out, sail around the bay, maybe out into the gulf."

   "How big?"

   "Forty feet of cash-absorbent fiberglass," I said.  "Sails nice,
though."

   "Sailboat?  Dad used to love those."

   "Used to?"

   "Still does.  Just doesn't get a chance any more."

   "Oh."

   "I don't have to go straight home, if you wanna stop for a cup of coffee
or something," she said softly.  "I wanna hear about your boat."

   We stopped at a pancake house and had a cup of coffee and a pastry
apiece.  And talked about sailboats.  Really.  Afterward, I dropped her at
her apartment, shared with two other college girls.  And no, no kiss
goodnight.

   After that, we sort of became friends, at least at a higher level than
Eddie and I maintained with the rest of the group.  We were familiar.  With
some people, familiarity was a reason for comfort.  For others, it was
breeding ground for contempt.

   David, the trumpet player, was indeed full of himself.  Talented, yes.
Bob admitted as much.  "Been teaching for twenty years," he said.  "he's
got the most talent of any trumpeter, almost ANY musician I've ever worked
with.  But he is one HUGE pain in the butt.  You'd think that America was
waiting for him to play his horn, like a trumpeter could be a superstar."

   I also found that he'd had a date with Jo.  ONE date.  "Biggest mistake
I ever made," she said.  "He's got, as they say in psych class, 'issues'."

   Mid-semester, the orchestra had a recital, open to the public.  Our
recording system was there, and so was I.  It went without a hitch. 
Unfortunately, it coincided with Eddie being pulled out of the office on an
assignment, so I got to do the whole thing myself.  That put ME sitting
behind the big monitor, safely off-stage, and I could watch everything in
exquisite detail.

   I admit it.  There was one channel, at least the video feed, that I made
priority window.  Red hair.  Blue eyes.  Smiling and playing a flute like
she was singing with angels.  Our recording system made her presence my
personal solo act, but she was also a featured solo performer.  So was
David, cocky, smirking, over-bearing.  By this stage of the game, he'd
alienated more than a few of the orchestra members.

   Maybe that's why the next step happened.  The orchestra had an
invitation to present a concert in Austin.  The logistics of such a thing
was, in my mind, relatively simple, but then I used to oversee the loadout
of my platoon of combat engineers.  Dividing resources so that the combat
loss of ONE vehicle wouldn't cripple the entire platoon's ability to
perform, that was interesting.  Moving a bunch of college musicians a
hundred and sixty miles, even if it WAS through Texas, didn't seem like an
insurmountable problem.  After all, the orchestra DID this before.

   There was a problem.  I got a phone call.

   "Stoney, this is Jo," said the soft voice on my phone.

   I was surprised.  I knew she had my number.  Eddie had passed out
business cards for the front company bearing the banner for his new sound
system and I was 'Hardware Engineer'.  But she'd NEVER called.  Yes, we
occasionally left together and had a cup of coffee after the practice
sessions, but we discussed music a bit and little more.

   And now she called.

   "Hi, Jo!  This is a surprise!  What's up?"

   "Did I catch you at a bad time?"

   "No, so far this has been a pretty good decade." I was truthful.  Nobody
had tried to cut my head off or shoot a rocket up my butt so far, like LAST
decade.

   Giggle.  I LOVE a giggling girl.

   "Are you going to the Austin event?"

   "Yes.  Why?"

   "Do you have room for a passenger?"

   "Sure, but I thought you guys had a chartered bus?"

   "I'd rather not ride that bus.  David's been a real ass lately and I
seem to have attracted his attention."

   I thought about that.  Jo attracted MY attention just by walking into a
studio with forty other students.

   "I have room," I said.  "Whole front seat.  I'll put your name on it."

   "What about Eddie?"

   "He's driving his own car.  Takes two cars.  Besides, Eddie's a little
more than I want to take on an overnight trip."

   "We have similar issues, it seems," she said.  "Can you meet me at the
music department building at noon tomorrow?"

   A guy can wish, can't he?

   I was there at the appointed time and place.  Pulled up behind a
chartered bus and waited.  Jo bounced out carrying her flute case and her
music and an overnight bag and a hanger bag.

   "Let me help you with that," I said.  "You're juggling things." I
relieved her of her hanger bag and the overnighter.  "It's gonna have to go
in the back seat.  The rear end is full of recording stuff."

   The flute case was important.  She carefully laid it on the floorboard
behind her seat.  I hung the hanging bag and she got into the front seat. A
few of her fellow students saw her in my car.  It wasn't the first time,
but it was the first time in broad daylight.

   "D'you wanna just leave?  Or follow the bus?"

   "Almost three hour drive.  Longer if we follow that bus," she said.  And
somebody'll be watching us if we're close enough."

   "Watching?"

   "Oh, yes," she said.  "I get questions.  Comments."

   "Like?"

   "Like 'What are doin' hangin' around with HIM?' and that sort of thing."
Her eyes cast downward.  "And some a lot more rude." She looked at me. 
"About physical things, too."

   "Physical things?"

   "Like 'How can you get past that scar?' and the usual suggestive crap."

   "Huh?  My SCAR is a problem?"

   "No, it's just a thing to hang onto when you don't want to say what the
real issue is."

   "What do you think the real issue is?"

   "You're an engineer, not an artist."

   "Oh.  Sort of like the 'hired help', then?"

   "Honestly, Stoney, people can be SO wrong in so many ways.  You know
Keshia, right?"

   "Oboe player.  Delightful black girl."

   "Yeah.  She's good at it.  Do you have any idea how much crap she gets
from other African-American students because she's 'acting white' for
playing classical music on an oboe?"

   "Hon," I said, "I work with a lot of people from a lot of different
backgrounds, black included.  I know about that 'acting white' business. 
You'd think that it would disappear in a college venue."

   She looked at me.  I could actually FEEL the look.  "Stoney, I've never
asked.  It might be personal, and you don't have to tell me if you don't
want to."

   "Ask away, Jo.  Worst that can happen is I turn colors and say 'no'."

   "Okay.  You don't have to answer.  But that scar.  How did you get it?
Car wreck?"

   "Nope.  Bad day a long time ago and far, far away.  Different life. 
Army.  Iraq."

   "Oh.  I never asked before.  You never said."

   "People don't talk about those things, Jo.  Me and my buddies were at
war.  America was at the mall.  Except for a few friends and family, the
whole military thing is beyond the average person's horizon."

   "Not mine."

   "Oh?"

   "I guess I'm a rare variety.  Army brat."

   "Seriously?"

   "Dad's a retired colonel."

   "Seriously?" I love it when I'm all well-spoken.

   "Yes.  Another thing people don't talk about.  But it's a fact.  He's an
infantry colonel.  Got medals and everything.  He did Iraq." She smiled. 
"He also did liason with the American embassy in Norway.  Twice.  First
time, he married Mom.  Second time, I was twelve."

   "Interesting," I said.

   "But I didn't know about you," she said.

   I smiled.  "Scar's the only mark I got from it." 'That shows, ' I
thought to myself.

   "You had a dark thought," Jo said.  "I saw it.  You were smiling, then
it's like a cloud passed over your face."

   "It's nothing.  It was a bad day.  That's all."

   "So, then, the music thing.  Tell me how you got your knowledge. 
College?"

   "Nope.  Just always loved it.  Especially classical.  I listen and
listen.  Love it."

   "Do you play?"

   "Not classical.  Banjo.  Guitar.  Folk.  Bluegrass."

   Giggle.  "Okay," she tittered.  "So you can hear a piece played on a
flute and tell me that it's Mozart's Clarinet Concerto in A, and you play
BLUEGRASS?!?"

   "It's what I can do."

   "And HOW do you do that?" she smiled.

   "Sit in my chair in the odd evening and plunk away.  Music I can make,
and it makes ME happy."

   She smiled.  "I'd like to hear you."

   "Maybe one day.  But Jo, I'm not a virtuoso like you are with the
flute."

   More smile.  "I'm beginning to see something about you, Stoney.  There's
something back there.  Behind those blue eyes, gears are turning."

   "A comment made about every psychotic in history," I laughed.

   "You missed your opportunity, buddy," she laughed.  "You could've dumped
my dismembered body in dumpsters all over the city several times."

   "Didn't want to get blood on my upholstery," I laughed.

   "Practical.  Nice," she laughed.  "But really.  I'd like to hear."

   "Not much flute in Bluegrass, or we could play together."

   "Bluegrass, maybe not, but Celtic..."

   "Irish."

   "Yeah.  Mom is.  So I know a bit of the music.  Get a flute and a fiddle
and a banjo an you' have an Irish rippin' good time.  Can you do 6/8 time?"

   "Like in 'Irish Washerwoman'?"

   "Yep.  See, you know that much."

   "Okay, here's the deal, Mister Stonewall Jackson.  Next time you and I
get together back home you better have your banjo on your knee."



   ------

   Chapter 3

   "But tell me," Jo said.  "You KNOW some of this music.  I mean, I played
two pieces, and you knew both of them."

   "I'm like an idiot savant for music."

   "Really?"

   "No.  But I hear something I like and I look for it and add it to my
collection.  The Mozart clarinet piece is one of my favorites, so I know
what it's called.  I guess I've played it a thousand times.  And Beethoven
symphonies?  How can you be serious about classical music and NOT know some
Beethoven themes?" I drove along, happy to have somebody to talk with. 
"Sometimes the music was my link to a sane world."

   "I can understand that feeling," she said.  "I find beauty there that is
timeless, how some composer three hundred years ago could put together
notes that speak to my being."

   "Such wondrous order," I said.  "It HAS to be order, order that works in
my head and my heart."

   I glanced over to catch a smile.

   "You're serious about this, aren't you?"

   "Music?  Yeah.  I love it.  Lots of other things in my life that I love,
too, but I always had music."

   "You say that like it means something that I'm not getting."

   I slept through the whole flight from Iraq to the hospital in Germany.
Drugs.  Every time I came to, I tried to move, whined, screamed, made some
sort of sound and an attending nurse squirted a little magic juice into the
IV stuck in my arm.

   Still only had one eye.  In the hospital, things were kind of sketchy
for a while.  Apparently I had no current life-threatening issues, but a
sizable bit of my scalp had been blown loose and there was divot out of my
skull from a piece of shrapnel.  Another piece had tracked parallel to my
face, across my forehead, eyebrow, and cheek.  Or something like that.  I
don't exactly remember the details, just that I got blown and thrown and
had to keep on fighting until my lights went out.

   I underwent several surgeries to attach those pieces where they were
supposed to go, and then there was infection and more surgery, and there
was a surgery on my leg, leaving me with a souvenir that would set off
metal detectors for the rest of my life.  I had another souvenir in my
upper arm.

   I started objecting to the painkillers despite a) the pain and b)
assurances that addiction wasn't in the cards.  But with the loss of the
narcotics, I had another problem: boredom.

   Nice people saw to it that we had paperback books and TV movies.  I
could do without the TV.  I learned to do pretty good with the books,
one-handed.

   I was napping one of those days when I heard a voice.  "Lieutenant
Jackson." A touch on my right arm.  "Lieutenant Jackson?"

   I woke up to see one of the orderlies, a pleasant girl with big brown
eyes.  "Is it time for medicine?"

   "No sir," she said.  "You got a package.  From your old unit." She
presented me with a little parcel.  I looked at the address label.  One of
my fellow officers.  We'd emailed back and forth.

   "Can you open it for me?" I asked.  No way that one hand was going to
get that box opened.

   She got it opened for me.  A folded, hand-written note fell out.  And my
iPod, headphones still wrapped around it like I'd left it.

   I read the note.

   "StoneyWe're crating up to redeploy and we were going through the desks
in the officer's quarters.  We found this iPod.  It didn't belong to any of
us, so I charged it and put the 'phones on and I knew exactly who it
belongs to.  You're the only one I know who would have a whole iPod full of
this classical shit.

   Since you sullied it so badly, we decided to send it to you.  When you
get a chance, email me and let me know you got it.

   I will let you know where we deploy to, but the CO (author note:
commanding officer) says you're not coming back to us before we move, and
maybe not after.  They've removed you from the unit roster.

   Caz"

   "I'll get an extension cord for your charger," the orderly said.

   And I got my music back.

   "No, nothing serious.  I was just remembering another time..."

   "I don't mean to pry into your personal life," she said.

   "Oh, Jo, I'm sorry.  It's not nearly that serious."

   "Sometimes things are," she said.  "And you don't know it.  Like David."

   "Yeah, you said he was being a problem."

   "Insistent.  I don't know what his problem is.  Well, I do.  To put it
in precise terminology, he's a douche.  Last year I mad the mistake of
dating him.  Once.  It was not pleasant.  I mean, I thought that the
arrogant thing was an act he hid behind in public.  I was wrong."

   "Boy does seem to have a way about 'im," I said.

   "That's why I didn't want to be on the bus.  He doesn't seem to think I
mean 'no'."

   "Even on a bus?"

   "Then he's just obnoxious." She huffed.  "But why am I talking about
him?"

   "Good question," I said.  "You ready for your time in the spotlight?"
She was doing a featured solo tonight.

   "Well, yes, : she laughed.  "Same pieces I've LIVED with for weeks.  I
have fun with Quantz.  I wish we had a harpist who was up to a Mozart
concerto for flute and harp."

   "Refresh my memory," I said.

   "Delightful allegro movement.  Assertive." She twisted around, reaching
behind the seats.  "If I can reach my case..."

   "Oh, you don't have to play it for me..." and inwardly my heart was
leaping.  I knew the piece.

   She expelled a breath, pulling the case through the gap between the
seats.  Latches clicked and she went through the ritual of assembling her
instrument.  She swiveled sideways in the seat to give herself room, put
the silver tube to her lips and heaven descended into a stupid Japanese
SUV.

   And yes, her bright eyes got brighter.

   The music flowed out like a brook, the notes bouncing in ripples and
waves.  I liked it when it was a pair of earbuds or headphones.  Jo,
sitting beside me, blue eyes as lively as her fingers dancing on her flute.
And it brought me to tears.

   She saw.  Put her flute in her lap.  "You're REALLY affected."

   "Of course," I said, wiping an eye.  "You're really good.  And really
live." I realized that I was wiping tears.  "Sorry, Jo.  Music affects me."

   "Don't be sorry.  D'ya know what it means to a musician if her music
actually MOVES somebody?"

   "Well, you got me."

   She put the flute back to her lips, smiled at me over it, and ripped
through the first few bars of "Irish Washerwoman".  "Because EVERYBODY
knows that one.  And I've heard it done on a banjo."

   Midafternoon found us in Austin.  We went to the motel.  I checked into
my own room.  Jo picked up a keycard for one of the rooms reserved for the
orchestra.  She'd be sharing with another of the orchestra, naturally.  I
slung my overnight bag over my shoulder and grabbed her hanger bag and
overnighter out of the car.

   "I can carry my own stuff, Stoney," she said.

   "I know you can, but this way you don't have to juggle things and we do
it in one trip."

   "I appreciate it, then," she said.  We took her stuff to her room.

   "What room are you in?" she asked.

   "329," I said.

   "Okay.  Go put your stuff up.  Give me a few minutes, and I'll call
you."

   I left her there and went to mine, wondering about 'and I'll call you.'
I ran a fresh wet cloth over my face, feeling a bit revived.  Stretched out
on the bed.  Left leg was barking at me a little bit.  It did that if I
abused it by things like two and a half non-stop hours sitting in a car.

   Last night had been another 'dream' night.  Being horizontal right now
resulted in a quick slide into sleep.  It wasn't a long nap, though,
because the bedside phone rang, not unexpectedly.

   "Hello," I said, expecting the voice I heard answer me.

   "Hi, Stoney," Jo said.  "Would you be interested in a late lunch?  I
have a line on a great little place."

   "Austin has some," I said.  "Meet you in the lobby?"

   I ran a washcloth over my face yet again, patted my short hair back
which was as much organization as it ever had, put on my shoes and went
downstairs.  Before I paraded into the lobby I stopped short of the
entrance to the lobby.

   Jo was sitting there waiting.  I took a moment to look at her.  Five
foot six.  Red hair in a pageboy cut, just brushed with no apparent spray
or poof or enhancement.  She was wearing a blue sweatshirt that on anyone
else would have appeared rather frumpy.  On Jo, it almost seemed to say
'there's a whole lot more to me than meets the eye.  Figure it out'.

   And jeans.  Because when she saw me walking up, she stood, leggy, in a
pair of colorful athletic shoes and jeans that weren't exactly tight,
because she wasn't exactly showing off.  As far as I was concerned, she
didn't need to.  Had no business staring like that, I told myself, but
then, a man does get to look every now and then.

   "Hi, Stoney," she said.

   I wished eight years of my life would disappear.  "Hi, Jo.  Where're we
going?"

   "It's two blocks from here.  Little something fusion place.  Kind of a
bar and grill."

   "Walk or drive," I asked.

   "Walk.  Pretty day."

   I should've not offered the choice.  Leg was sort of singing a sad song.
First block wasn't bad.  By the second block, I was trying not to look like
I was limping and I thought I was doing okay on the outside, even though
each step was a sort of dull twinge.

   I wasn't walking with an idiot.

   "You're limping."

   "'Sokay.  Not much further.  Gets a lot better with a short rest."

   "Well Stoney, you should've said something." She looked at me with those
clear blue eyes.

   "It usually doesn't act up.  I guess between the drive and the walk, I'm
pushing things a bit too hard."

   "Left leg?  How'd you hurt it?"

   "Same bad day that got me this scar," I said.

   "Oh.  Are you gonna be okay?"

   "Absolutely." We turned the corner and saw the sign.

   Sitting in a chair was immediate relief.

   "Your smile brightened up.  Feel better?" she asked.

   "Yes.  Much."

   "What happened, Stoney?  Leg?  Head?"

   I unbuttoned the left sleeve of the long-sleeved shirt and slide it
halfway up my arm, where the scarring started from that part of the party.
"There are others," I said.  "The leg's the one that gives me the most
trouble," I said.  I didn't add 'but doesn't hurt as often as the one in my
head.'

   "Same bad day?" she asked.

   "Yep."

   "Okay." A waitress dropped us at a table in the corner with a pair of
menus.  "Dad says that most guys don't talk about it.  And you didn't say."

   "I have some hardware in my leg and upper arm.  And sometimes the leg
acts a little achy.  It's not that bad.  If I had to, I could do MUCH more
than walk a couple of blocks."

   "You could've said something."

   "What?  And miss a chance to walk down the street with YOU?"

   Giggle.  "THAT'S a plus?"

   "To me it is.  You're quite pretty.  Just being around you..." I
stopped.

   "What.  Being around me.  What?" She insisted.

   "Makes me happy." Okay.  There.  I said it.

   "Good.  It's reciprocal."

   The waitress was there waiting on an order.  "Thai tea.  Your appetizer
sampler.  Jo?"

   "Thai tea works for me," she said.  "Were you planning on sharing that
sample platter?"

   "Of course," I said.  To the waitress, I said "That oughtta do it for
now."

   "Reciprocal?" I asked.

   "Yep.  Trying to figure you out, Stoney."

   "Not much to figure out.  Just a guy."

   She smiled.  "Uh, you're an engineer.  And a combat veteran.  And you
like good music."

   "The music thing is not a 'like', it's a 'need' to me.  And the other
two?  Everybody has to be SOMETHING.  And I didn't have much choice about
the combat thing."

   "Sure you did.  But you chose to serve."

   I couldn't think of an answer to that comment, but was relieved of the
responsibility by the appearance of two glasses of fragrant, sweet, creamy
Thai tea.

   "I love this stuff," she said.

   "Me too."

   "Now," she said, "if I'm being a little forward, forgive me, but you
seem a little slow..."

   "Slow?"

   "Yes, slow.  Let me ask you this.  Do you like me?"

   "Nope," I said, "I always drive halfway across Texas with women I don't
like.  Hate the flute, too."

   "Okay, silly question, at least on the surface.  But like hanging out
with me?"

   "Yes, of course, Jo, but you're what?  Twenty?"

   "Twenty-one.  And what's that got to do with it?  We're both adults."

   "Just a pretty big gap is all," I said.

   "Not really," she countered.  "D'you ...  would I be interfering with,
like, ANOTHER relationship?  Another girlfriend?"

   "No," I said.  "Not lately."

   "So you don't have a girlfriend.  And I don't have a boyfriend.  And I
find you interesting, soooo..."

   "Would you be my girlfriend, Jo?  Just like I was twelve?"

   "Exactly like that, Stoney." She reached across the table and touched my
fingers with hers.

   For the first time, I knew the smile was for me.

   Changed things.  Fast.  For one thing, she switched chairs.  Instead of
sitting across the table from me, she was beside me.  And conversation was
more animated.  Relaxed, we did.

   That should've been it until the evening.  They had a practice session
scheduled in the concert hall for six, and we could make that if we left at
five.

   Things changed though, when I head loud voices of boisterous young males
at the door and David and a couple of his toadies walked in.  I saw the
look in Jo's eyes.  The sparkle just sort of died.

   We were seated in a corner, not immediately visible, but that wasn't
good enough.  David and his crew surveyed the dining room and spied us.

   "Oh, lookie," he said in a mincing falsetto.  "There's Jo and her friend
Scarface."

   I didn't mind 'Scarface' from my rugby buddies.  Yes, rugby on weekends
was a way to push myself, leg or no leg, keeping me from that middle-aged
engineer pudgy waistline.  But those guys, we'd rolled in the mud together,
playing as a team.

   This, however, was a little turd trying to be a smartass.  Still, I can
put up with a bit of crap.  I hoped that they'd just go to the bar or sit
somewhere else.  It wasn't to be.  He made his way to our table, his two
partners close behind.

   "Jo, you oughta be with me, you know."

   "No, David," she said.  "Not a chance.  I told you..."

   And he put his hand on her shoulder.  She heaved it to move his hand but
his fingers curled, gripping.

   "Uh, David," I said, "you need to move your hand."

   His taunting laughter came with a pulse of breath reeking of alcohol.

   "You need to mind yer own fuckin' business.  She don't need to be
hangin' with the hired help!"

   "Davidddd, you're hurting..." she bleated.

   I stood up and the turd took a swing at me.  The cashier already had a
phone at her ear.

   It was an artless swing.  I knew something of the art.  Slapped his blow
aside easily.  "David, you don't want..." And he swung again.  The blow
glanced off my forearm as I parried.  To his two buddies I said, "Y'all
better stop him."

   "Naw," the closest one said.  "I wanna watch 'im kick your ass."

   That wasn't going to happen.  David released Jo's shoulder and she slid
her chair back.  And the dumbass swung again.  What's the rule say?  'Three
strikes and you're out'?  That was Strike Three.  You'd think that the fact
that I'd countered his first two swings would've been an indication that
another approach might be advisable, but they say, 'stupidity is doing the
same thing twice in a row and expecting different results'.  Or in this
case, three times.  And I'd tried.  Really tried.

   His third swing had every bit of force behind it that he could muster
and I countered with my left forearm.  Old damage there.  It HURT!  And I
reacted.  No, no fist.  That's seldom the best move.  I came up with my
right hand open, fingers joined, thumb along side, and put the heel of my
hand on his chin, right below his lip.  Of course, the rest of that hand
compressed his nose, blood flew.  And he fell backward into the arms of his
buddies.

   "Oh, shit, man!  You busted 'is mouth!" One of his buddies yelled. 
"Shit!"

   Other toadie said, "Let's get 'im outta here!"

   "By dose," David said, blood pouring out of a displaced nose, the stream
added to by a busted lip.  "By mout.  Mouuuwwwww..." And he started
wailing. "By mouwwww.  Hurt by mouwwww..."

   And the cops showed up.  Two of them.  I put my hands flat on the table.
No sense it getting tazed or sprayed or whatever other happiness the Austin
cops dispense.  And I maintained eye contact.

   "Everybody just stay put," said the first officer, an older guy, a bit
of a paunch to him.  He had a nightstick in hand.  I wasn't going to fight
that.  I wasn't going to fight anything.  "What's going on here?"

   The cashier and the waitress were close by.  "I called," the cashier
said.  She was middle aged.  The waitress was quite possibly a college
student, maybe Jo's age.

   "What happened?" the cop asked.

   "These two," she said, pointing to me and Jo, "came in earlier and were
sitting here eating and talking.  Those three," pointing to David and his
friends, "came in talking loud, and He marched over to their table, grabbed
her and when this guy told him to stop, he started swinging."

   In the distance I heard a siren.  "You just stay sitting here, stud,"
the cop told David.  EMS is on the way." The other cop had David's two
buddies backed away, one in cuffs, looking very sullen.  David tried to
stand.  The first cop tapped him on the shoulder with the nightstick. 
"Just sit there."

   David was moaning, holding his hands over his nose.

   "Can you give 'im a towel or a napkin," I said.  "Boy's hurt."

   "Looks like it," the cop said.  "So what's YOUR side of the story?"

   "Pretty much like she said," I replied.  "We were sitting here, drinking
tea and talking.  They walked in, talking loud.  He came over, told her she
needed to be with him instead of me, and grabbed her.  I told him to stop.
He swung.  I brushed it off.  Told him to stop.  He swung again.  Same
thing.  Third time he swung, he hit an old injury and it hurt so I hit 'im.
Self defense.  Defending her, too, mostly."

   "You hit 'im once."

   "Yessir." Damned right I called him 'sir'.  Assholes almost always end
up at the police station, if not in jail.  "That's all it took.  Just
wanted 'im to stop and leave us alone."

   "What about Frick and Frack there?" he said, motioning to the two
toadies.

   "Uh, I tried to get them to take him away from us, but the one over
there in cuffs said he was gonna stay here an' watch me get my ass kicked."

   The cop stifled a laugh.  His eyes looked at me.  "That uh ...  scar..."

   "Army.  Iraq."

   "No shit!  Me too!  MP's."

   "Combat engineer with an Armor battalion," I said.

   "And that broken nose business, that's something they teach combat
engineers?"

   "You learn a lot of things, especially when you're stuck in a stinkin'
compound for six months."

   "Tell me about it."

   The paramedics arrived and attended to David.  He was awfully reluctant
to give up his bloody dishtowel.

   The other cop came to his buddy's side.  "What'd YOU get?" he asked his
partner.

   "These two sitting here, those three walked in, Hercules there wrote a
check with his mouth that 'is ass couldn't cash."

   I turned my head to keep the cops from seeing me snicker.  Jo saw me. 
They pulled her aside and questioned her.  David got bundled up and shoved
into the back of an ambulance and one of our cops left behind them after
sticking Frick and Frack into the back of my cop's cruiser.

   He returned with Jo beside him.  "Okay, folks, let me get some ID."

   I gave him my driver's license, as did Jo and the waitress and the
cashier.  He dutifully copied information down and redistributed drivers'
licenses.

   Finally, he said, "Okay.  I'd say I'm sorry you had this bad experience
here in Austin, but since all y'all came from the same place, I won't.  But
I hope you have a better evening."

   "What about those three guys?" Jo said.

   "Gonna take 'em to the station, book 'em and release 'em.  If you want
to press assault charges, I can help you with that.  And what's 'es name?
David Collings?  His trip goes through the emergency room.  His nose may be
broken.  And then the police station."

   "Oh." Jo said curtly.  "Stoney, you just punched our trumpet soloist in
the mouth." She tried to look serious.  A slight upturn at the corners of
her mouth indicated otherwise.

   "Trumpet player?  Mister Jackson, you were assaulted by a MUSICIAN?" the
cop asked.  "What are they teachin' kids these days?" He was shaking his
head as he walked out.

   I apologized to the staff for the mess.  "Oh, pleaaase," the waitress
said.  "I know about crazy exes." We left the place after paying the bill.
Extra tip.  Felt sorry for folks having to mop up blood and snot.

   "Is your leg okay for the walk back?" Jo asked.

   "Perfectly.  I'm always up for a stroll down the avenue with my
girlfriend." I paused as we walked into the street.  "You ARE still my
girlfriend, right?  I just punched out your ex."

   "And he's been deserving it for a long time.  Of COURSE I'm still your
girlfriend.  But what's gonna happen to the concert?  I mean, you just
punched out fifty percent of our soloists."

   "Oh, shit!" I blurted.  "What's Bob gonna say?"



   ------

   Chapter 4

   How do you walk up to a conductor and tell him that you just disabled
one of his soloists?  That was going to be my task.  We walked out of the
little restaurant and headed back to the hotel.

   "Is your leg going to be alright?  I could go back and get your car," Jo
said.

   "No way you're walking back by yourself, Jo.  And I'll be just fine."

   "I won't have to worry about David accosting me for the rest of the day,
Stoney.  Thank you."

   "Thank me for what?"

   "For standing up for me."

   "Jo, I'd be a sad individual if I wouldn't stand up for my friend."

   I felt her hand touch mine as we walked, then almost shyly hold on.  I
turned to see her face.  Shyness there too.

   "You don't mind, do you?"

   "Not in the least.  Been a long time since a girl held my hand out in
public."

   "I wish I understood people, Stoney," she said.

   "Nothing to understand, little redheaded girl.  I'm not physically
attractive.  I can see in the mirror."

   "Doesn't bother me in the least."

   "You're my only fan."

   "I doubt that.  And after tonight, you'll have plenty more."

   I felt like I was twelve, with my first hand-holding little girlfriend.
As we neared the hotel, we ran into a couple of the other members of the
orchestra.  Curious looks.  Every one of them gave us a curious look.  Jo
just smiled placidly.

   We walked into the lobby to find Bob pacing.  He saw me and Jo and
hurried over, cellphone in hand.  "Shit, Stoney!  Shit!  You punched out my
trumpet soloist."

   Jo jumped in.  "Doctor Bob, it was self-defense.  Stoney and I were at a
restaurant minding our own business.  David and his buds walked in and
David grabbed me.  Stoney told him to stop and go away, and David swung at
Stoney three times before Stoney fought back."

   Bob shook his head.  "I know.  I got the story.  Stevie and Carson
called when they left the police station.  David's still at the hospital. I
guess I have to go get him." He looked at me.  "You punched his face in?"

   "He was drunk.  High.  Both.  And his buddies ...  I tried to get them
to take him away."

   "He's out of it." He looked at Jo.  "I know you're good with your solo
tonight, but that Mozart piece.  We've done it a time or two.  That was
going to be the Christmas concert.  Are you up to it?"

   I saw Jo straighten her back like she was drawing up an extra measure of
resolve.  "I can do it."

   "We have this evening's rehearsal to tighten it up," Bob said.

   "Bob," I said, "I'm really sorry about David.  I tried..."

   "Boy's had it coming for a long time.  Don't know where he got that
rockstar, prima donna attitude, but he's been pushing it.  And I've tried
to counsel him about the drinking, but you know how it is when you're
young. Invulnerable."

   I fingered my scar.  "Yeah.  I know."

   Bob returned a sort of sheepish half-smile.  "Not what I meant, Stoney.
Sorry.  These kids ...  They're not anything like that.  If he didn't play
trumpet, David would be absolutely useless."

   "It's okay, Bob.  I know what you meant." As I finished that statement,
Jo bumped against me.

   "I'm gonna go to my room.  I'll call you later." She left me standing in
the lobby as she joined a couple of other female orchestra members heading
up the hall.

   I started to turn that way myself, but Bob spoke my name.

   "Stoney," he said, "You might get some comments about David.  Just so
you know MY version, I have no doubt that he had it coming.  The fact that
he's getting booked at the police station sort of confirms that, but law
aside, the boy's been cruising for a bruising for a while."

   "Thanks, Bob," I said, "but still..."

   "Waste your time worrying about something else, son.  And Jo's been
chomping at the bit over that Mozart piece.  I've been reining her in
because we wanted to showcase David.  You did her more than one favor
today."

   "She played some of that Mozart piece for me on the way up here.  And
that Mozart Concerto for Flute and Harp.  You need to find a competent
harpist."

   "Maybe we can do that for Christmas," he said.  "By the way ...  holding
hands?  You and Jo?"

   "Started BEFORE I punched out your musician," I said.  "I need a friend.
So does she."

   He smiled.  "You already got ONE of my musicians, buddy."

   I went back to my room and stretched out again.  I was contemplating the
process of getting up and driving to the concert hall to set up when the
room phone rang.

   "This is Stoney," I said.

   "Hi, Stoney.  Can you give your girlfriend a ride?"

   "Sure," I laughed.  "That's a boyfriend's job."

   Giggle.  "Meet me in the lobby?"

   "Sure," I said.  "I'm putting my shoes on." Click.

   I slid into my loafers and headed out the door.  In the lobby, Jo was
conversing with several of the other players.  I walked up, recognized the
guy in the group as one of the percussionists, Jefferson.  Yeah, black guy.
And we had, on occasion shared a laugh over stereotypes.  "White guy
engineer, Black dude playin' drums." And all sorts of other musical
hardware that you got sounds from by beating it with a stick.

   "Whoa, Mister Stoney," he said, "You punched David in the mouth?"

   I looked at Jo.  "News gets around fast."

   "Stevie and Carson just got back," she said.  "Their story is, shall we
say, 'embellished'.  They're not particularly artful at lying.  Neither of
'em will talk to me."

   "Said you put 'is ass down with one punch," Jefferson said.

   "I didn't punch im.  I pushed on 'is face with my hand."

   "David swung at Stoney three times before Stoney pushed him," Jo said.
"Asked Stevie and Carson to take David away before things got bad."

   "That's what Stevie said.  Said David didn't think you'd swing on 'im
because you was, you know, older an' all that."

   I shook my head.  "First, he laid his hands on Jo and didn't stop when
she asked him.  Second, he swung THREE times.  I asked Stevie and Carson to
take him away.  They didn't.  And he got dumber.  So I pushed 'im to make
'im stop."

   "Dude," one of the other guys said.  "Broke 'is NOSE.  Busted both lips.
Knocked a tooth out."

   "I didn't know about the tooth," I said.

   "You, like, one a'them black ops dudes?"

   "Nope.  I am just like you.  I went to college.  Got a degree.  ROTC
paid for some of it, so I owed 'em.  I was just an engineer lieutenant,
that's all.  No special nuthin'." I glanced at my watch.  "Don't y'all have
some music to play somewhere?"

   Jo tugged my sleeve.  "Come on, Stoney.  They'll follow.  They react
well to leadership."

   "Yeah," Jefferson said, laughing.  "'Specially after you beat the shit
outta one a'us."

   Twenty minutes later they were trooping into the concert hall after the
leased bus parked.  After reviewing the layout, I started setting up my
system, trying to stay out of the way of a roomful of young musicians.

   Bob ascended the podium.  "Can I have your attention?" he said loudly.
The room silenced.

   "I'm sure you all heard that we lost the use of David's trumpet this
evening, so we're going to change up the program."

   "Program's already printed," came an anonymous comment.

   "Yeah, I know," Bob replied.  "We're going to announce that David has
medical issues and cannot play."

   "Muhfuh can freakin' hum," came another comment.  Sounded suspiciously
like Jefferson and was followed by general tittering.

   "Okay, okay," Bob said.  "Let's go ahead and get it out.  Who all knows
what happened to David?"

   Carson and Stevie hung their heads.

   "Carson?  Stevie?" Neither volunteered a story.  Bob continued. 
"According to the police department, David walked up to Jo, grabbed 'er,
and Mister Stoney came to her defense."

   "Hit 'im ONCE!" Stevie volunteered.  "David swung three times.  And then
Mister Stoney did one punch.  Caved 'is face in."

   "Okay," Bob said.  "That's the story.  Here's the plan for tonight. 
We're going to make one change to the solo performances.  Obviously, David
can't get a note out his trumpet..."

   "He could blow it out 'is ass," came another Jeffersonian comment.

   "Mister Jefferson, if you please, there are people of civilized demeanor
present."

   "And dey be laughin', too.  But I'll shut up now." Jefferson played the
dialect for effect.  I know his dad was an executive for a big company in
Houston.

   "Okay, now that the Jarvis Jefferson comedy tour is over, here's what's
next.  In place of David doing the Haydn Trumpet Concerto, we're going to
double up on Miss Jo and do that Mozart piece instead, K .314.  I think
we're all there on that.  Unless you want to do that oboe piece, Miss
Keshia."

   "I'll make a deal with you, Doctor Bob," Keshia said.  "You give my pale
princess friend two tonight an' if Mister David still can't play in
December, I'll do mine then."

   I was still weaving in and out amongst the players, connecting,
positioning, measuring, making sure that I replicated the geometry of my
equipment as closely as possible to the setups we'd used back home.  I was
near Keshia.  She whispered, "I hope you busted that jerk up good."

   I guess I might've done a universal favor.

   I returned to my console.  It was set up discretely off-stage.  I didn't
really need to be in actual view of the orchestra, but it was pleasing
vantage point.  Bob turned to me and I gave him a 'thumbs up' sign.  By the
end of the practice session, I had my equipment dialed in.  I ran through
each sensor station in turn, comparing levels against the master level
display and then I settled back, letting the equipment do its job.  It
wasn't quite a supercomputer, but this bit of processing power could
monitor complex industrial processes 24/7.  Catching a bit of music was a
walk in the park.

   Pulled up one channel and make it the center of the screen.  Jo.  Got
her again when she ran through the solo pieces.  Eddie's right.  She can't
help but smile when she plays.

   At the end of practice, Bob laid out the schedule for the next day. 
"Rehearsal at one PM.  Two hours.  Then the bus leaves the hotel at five
for the concert." He glanced at me as I was closing up my console.  "And if
you're gonna do something stupid, PLEASE don't do it around Mister Stoney."

   "Geez, Bob," I said.

   The group broke up, putting instruments into cases and filing out to the
waiting bus.  I gathered a smiling redhead.  And her equally smiling oboist
friend.

   "You don't mind if I ride with you, Mister Stoney?"

   "Just 'Stoney', and no, I don't mind."

   "Well, somebody said they saw you an' Jo holdin' hands walkin' down the
street today.  I don't wanna be in the way."

   "Key," Jo said, using Keshia's nickname, "Don't be silly.  You sit in
the back seat and I can hold his hand in the front seat."

   "So it's true, then..." she flashed a smile, dark eyes laughing.  "I
guess that means you're all done with David, huh?"

   "I was done with David after one date, Key.  I didn't think somebody
could be that big an ass full time."

   "An' then Stoney punched 'is face in, and now you're his girlfriend? 
That's rather Neanderthal, don'tcha think?" She laughed.  "How 'bout that,
Stoney?  Black girl usin' words like 'Neanderthal'."

   "Tell me another one, little black girl.  Jo told me you're here on a
double scholarship and the big one is academic.  You need to do a better
job of being a poor little black girl."

   "And I decided I was Stoney's girlfriend before he punched David out."

   "I didn't punch David out.  I gave him ONE push!"

   We were in sight of a little diner.  "How about a late snack?" Jo said.

   "Now I know I'm interferin'," Key said.

   "You are not," Jo said.  "He's been my boyfriend for what, Stoney?  Six
hours?"

   "Yeah, somewhere along there.  You haven't picked out the wedding dress
yet."

   Key laughed.  "You got yahself a smartass, Jo."

   I pulled into the diner and we went in, drank a cup of hot chocolate,
chatted.  I'm sort of on the periphery of the orchestra now.  I recognize
most of the faces and can name the owners, and I'm seeing some of the more
assertive personalities.  Jo, naturally was the biggest impression on me.
Special.  Key was a bubbly thing.  There were others.

   By the time we finally got to the hotel, many of the group were
streaming back out from their rooms, headed to who knows where.  'Ah, to be
a kid in college again' I thought to myself.  A couple of them tried to
corral Jo and Key into one of the foraging parties.  Key went.  Jo
demurred.

   "You're not going?" I said.

   "Not unless you are," she replied.  "I might be convinced to go
someplace and get a sandwich.  I don't think that's what those other kids
have in mind, though."

   "Maybe that's a starting point," I said.

   "Huhhh!  I've been on these jaunts for three years.  Food's only one
primal urge that they're thinking about."

   "So what're you hungry for?" I had only the barest vestiges of a double
meaning when I said it.

   And her eyes showed just a little more understanding as she parsed the
statement.  "I dunno.  Can we drive up the road?  There are all kinds of
places in Austin."

   Back in the car, I told Jo, "I had no idea David was that unpopular."

   She laughed.  "He's popped off to just about everybody in the place at
one time or another.  If it were football they'd've taken him behind the
bleachers and beat the crap out of him by now.  You did what half the
orchestra has been wanting to do."

   In the darkness of the evening, she leaned over the gap between the two
front seats and put a hand inside my right arm.  Leaned her head on my
shoulder.  "Find us some kind of Serbo-Lithuanian fusion restaurant," she
said.  "You may have to drive around for a bit while you look.  Don't mind
me.  I'm right here." And she punctuated that statement by sort of nuzzling
me.

   Okay.  Drive around a while, dumbass.

   "Am I weird, Stoney?"

   "What would you classify as weird, Jo?"

   "Choosing you."

   "I wouldn't call it weird.  Surprising, maybe.  Very pleasantly
surprising.  But not weird.  I didn't think anybody would get past
'Scarface'."

   "You have a nice face.  Scar's ...  I dunno.  Character."

   "You have a nice face too," I said.  "And talent.  And brains.  And
freckles.  Lots of freckles."

   "Oh, don't tell me you noticed."

   "Can't miss 'em.  Like a constellation of 'I'm different', you know."

   "I'm different.  Red hair.  Freckles.  Ignore them."

   "Can't.  They're charming."

   "Are you making this up as you go along?"

   "Nope.  Had to work hard not to stare."

   "Before?"

   "Before what?" I asked.

   "Before I became your girlfriend."

   "Oh, yeah.  Somebody pointed out that you smile while your playing
music. I watched.  You do."

   "You pay too much attention, Stoney."

   "Only to important things."

   "That's sweet.  Might be total bullshit, but it's sweet."

   I saw an interesting-looking restaurant and I badly wanted to slow down
the tumble the conversation was taking.  I didn't want to be somebody's
'thing' of the moment.  No matter how absolutely beautiful and talented I
thought her to be.

   "It's not Serbo-Lithuanian," I said.  "Cuban."

   "That's going to work just fine." She sat up.  "Let's go."

   Neat place.  Was guided to a booth.  'What the hell?' I thought. 
"CafĂ(C) cubano con leche." Jo's eyes brightened.  "Make that two."

   When the coffees arrived, we'd decided on sandwiches.  Wonderfully
flavorful sandwiches.

   "Of course the coffee's gonna mess with my sleep," she said.

   "Oh, me too," I concurred.  But I knew that coffee or no coffee, a whole
night's sleep wasn't likely to happen.

   "So tell me some Stoney stories," she said.  "Where'd you grow up?"

   I put on my best 'Steve Martin' voice.  "I was born a poor black
child..."

   Giggle.  "Steve Martin.  "The Jerk".  Loved that movie!" grinning
broadly, she said, "You're a man of many talents, Mister Jackson."

   "Yeah, uh-huh," I said.  "I can order Cuban coffee with milk."

   She propped her elbow on the table, cradled her chin in her hand, and
her blue eyes drilled straight into me.  "I know you're not a dummy,
Stoney. Maybe you haven't learned that about me yet.  But there's something
to you..."

   "Why do you think that?" I asked.

   "I just ...  know.  You've been places.  Dad used to tell me about some
of his friends, some of his soldiers.  That they're changed."

   I hung my head a little.  Not something I wanted to talk about.  Not
right now.  Not with...

   "I was in a room with fifty people today, Stoney.  Thirty of those were
men.  And none of them get that look I see in your eyes sometimes."

   Thankfully, the sandwiches arrived, dripping with juice, redolent with
spicy, savory meat.  I knew the general idea of these things and this
example turned out to be right there in the middle of the range. 
Definitely hit the spot.

   Lots of napkins, too.  Giggle.  "Not a meal for the fastidious," she
said.  Then her eyes twinkled.  "Many of the best things in life aren't,
you know."

   "So on top of being a concert musician, you're also a philosopher," I
said.

   "You have no idea what I am capable of, sir," she smiled.

   We did talk about my origins.  She listened attentively.  And I asked
about her, learned about being an Army brat, a genre of youth I had some
middling experience with, having spent a measurable amount of time at
stateside army bases.  Her story, though, was a little more exotic.  Her
dad had done some time as part of military attache' groups.

   "He was in Norway, for heaven's sake.  Attached to the embassy.  Met my
mom.  She was at another embassy.  Ireland.  I'm the product of a mixed
marriage.  I think the freckles and red hair are Irish.  Dad spoke a little
Norwegian from his grandparents."

   "Interesting," I said.  "You're certainly more travelled than most
people your age."

   "Yeah.  I know what it's like to stay home with Mom when Dad got
assigned to a combat battalion on its way to Iraq, too.  And Mom wasn't
religious until Dad left, then we went to Mass pretty regularly until he
got back."

   "That's a big load for a little girl." I said.  'He came back, though, '
the voice inside my head said.  Another set of bad dreams in the making.

   "So's a new school every three years.  But here I am.  Mom and Dad
pushed education on me.  Dad pushed learning to learn." She saw my eyes. 
"Stoney, what thought causes that?"

   "Causes what?"

   "We were talking and smiling and then it's like a cloud came over your
face." Her face was so soft, concerned.  A little crease appeared between
her eyebrows.  Thinking.  "Something happened back there.  I'm sorry.  I
start talking and I don't think about what other people might be thinking."

   "No, Jo.  Not your fault."

   "You know, Stoney, you can talk to me ...  I might not understand, but
you can talk to me and I'll try to understand."

   "I'll try to talk about it sometime, Jo," I said.  "But not this
evening. I am having fun.  Sometimes things just sort of squeak in.  I just
try to squeak 'em back out."

   She smiled again.  "Okay.  But just remember.  Part of 'boyfriend and
girlfriend' is 'friend'.  And that's the most important point."

   "You think so, don't you?"

   "I certainly do," she smiled.  "What else is there?  Sex?  People have
sex all the time.  It's a mechanical function at its most basic level. 
What makes it more than that is friendship.  Strong friendship.  Love.  If
you don't have somebody who makes you smile, who you can talk to, then
you're back to sex.  Pretty poor thing to build a longterm relationship
on."

   My mouth said what I was thinking.  "That's quite a mature and sane way
of looking at things."

   She smiled a pert little smirk.  "Catholic Mom.  Lutheran Dad.  Lots of
time sitting on one knee or another.  Lots of time crying on Mom's shoulder
with a broken heart before I realized that you keep your heart in a safe
place until you know it's the right person to give it to.  And a new car, a
loud stereo and tight jeans are not the signs you're looking for.  At least
not the signs I thought I should be looking for."

   Our waitress brought the check and I deposited a credit card.  Jo
reached for her purse and I waved it off.  "Boyfriends buy their
girlfriends dinner," I said.

   "So I'm still your girlfriend?"

   "Whole eleven hours now.  I'm easy to keep."

   Walking out, I grabbed her hand, got a head toss and a smile.  And a
head on my shoulder for the drive back to the hotel.

   I was afraid to push things out of the lobby.  I had a picture of her in
my mind.  I had no idea what an invitation to my room might do.  I elected
to not push the situation.  Instead, we parted ways there in the lobby.

   "Stoney," she said softly, "Does this count as first date?"

   "Yes.  And Jo?"

   "Yes..."

   "I'd rather it not be the only one."

   "Then you won't mind if it ends with this," she said.  She took both my
hands, tugged me within range and kissed me, lips closed.  When she pulled
away, she sighed.  "Won't be the only date, Stoney.  Or the only kiss."

   And she disappeared up the hall, leaving me standing there watching.



   ------

   Chapter 5

   Okay ...  Eddie was supposed to be here for this weekend foray.  All I
got was the 'OMG!  Dad's sick.  I gotta go!" an hour before we were
supposed to leave, and a promising (at least for him and his dad) update on
Saturday.  And it was Saturday night and after ten and I was in my hotel
room cycling through eighty channels of 'nothing's on TV'.  I finally gave
up, plugged my iPod into the bedside radio and punched up the bedtime
playlist.  Sleep came easily.

   It usually did.  That's the good part.  The bad part came later.

   ------

   "Mount up and MOVE!" And the crack of the first mortar round.  I was
sitting straight up in bed, beads of sweat forming.  Wide awake.  I'd heard
every round.  The screams of pain from my men.  The victorious yelling of
our attackers.  The cracks of rifle fire, the ear-splitting explosions of
RPGs, the hot, sticky feel of blood, mine, my men's, even that last
attacker before I lost consciousness.

   ------

   I succumbed to a pill from a VA prescription.  I hated myself for that.
I fought the urge to give up and accept the medication as a solution.

   I was still reliving that day when the chemistry took effect.

   I was trying to shake off the groggy head the next morning, sitting in
the lobby next to the hotel coffee pot.

   "You don't look like you slept well," a soft voice said from behind me.
Jo.

   "Hi, princess," I said.  "No, I didn't.  Ended up taking a pill, and now
my head feels like wet sawdust."

   "Is there something I can do to help?" she asked.

   "You showed up.  Said hi.  That's a big help, all by itself."

   She smiled.  "We have time to go find breakfast if you want.  The bus
leaves at ten, and if you don't mind your girlfriend riding with you, she
doesn't mind missing the bus."

   "You got a deal, Jo.  Let's go find something for breakfast.  You have
any ideas in mind?"

   "I don't usually do this, but I think I want a good ol' American
breakfast.  Bacon.  Eggs.  Pancakes."

   "Are you planning on packing and leaving now, or do we plan on coming
back?"

   "Sir, this is my breakfast attire so we can leave right after we eat."
She spun around.  I was sitting.  She was standing, leggy, wearing jeans
that fit nicely and her ass was at eye level.  Headache or no headache,
that view was pleasant.

   "Then let us depart, little lady," I said, rising and offering her my
arm.  Several orchestra members were wandering around.  We were noticed.

   This time we went straight to my SUV and drove off.  She was punching on
her iPhone as we left the parking lot.  "Okay, here's one that's not a
chain and Yelp gives good reviews.  And we're between the early church
crowd and the late church crowd."

   "Lead on," I said.  "I shall buy my sweetie pancakes and bacon."

   "Eggs.  Don't forget eggs.  And orange juice.  And coffee."

   I glanced sideways.  God, what a beauty.

   "So why didn't you sleep, Stoney?"

   "It's hard to talk about, Jo.  Really is."

   "I can listen really good, you know."

   "I believe you can, Jo.  I just can't talk about it.  Not yet.  Not now.
Something I have to deal with."

   "Stoney, we're friends.  I want to help, but I don't want to push.  You
could've called me last night.  Even if we didn't talk, I could've been
there."

   Her voice was soft, caring.  Soft.  Caring.  Genuine.  If I was going to
talk to somebody, it would be somebody who sounded like Jo.  Sounded like
Jo.  I'd actually sat through a couple of sessions with real live
counselors.  The army provides those.  So does the Veterans'
Administration. Each time, though, I felt like the counselor was filling
out the forms for Patient # 564392.  Jo made me feel almost like Patient #1
of 1.  Scratch 'patient'.  Make that 'friend'.

   "Jo," I said, "Some things happened long ago and far away and I have
dreams..."

   "Nightmares," was the soft reply.  "Dad talks about some.  Sat me down
when he got back from Iraq and said that everybody has them except people
who are complete psychotics.  And he said that some people's are worse than
others." She paused.  "Stoney, friend.  Mom sat up some nights holding Dad.
Holding.  Just holding.  Not even talking." She continued.  "My dad is a
rock.  You don't get to be an Army colonel by being dumb, and he was a
commander of a combat battalion in Iraq.  Wasn't, from what I understand,
one of those 'I'll be behind this wall in my CP (Author's note: Command
Post) and you can tell me what's going on later' commanders."

   "My commanders were like that.  Jo, I was like that."

   "I can't believe you would be any other way, Stoney.  You stepped up
Friday."

   "Little bit different.  I ...  we were attacked by a drunk musician."

   She snorted.  "We musicians are a tough bunch, buddy.  One of these days
we'll go to the gym."

   "I don't do gyms very often.  I got the boat."

   "Oh, yeah ...  One of these days I want to see it.  When do you have
time?  I mean, this weekend..."

   I smiled.  "If I hadn't gone to Austin with you guys, I'd've probably
been there.  Sometimes I go after work Friday and spend the weekend.  Got
everything I need except a few groceries."

   "Do you just stay at the marina or do you go out?"

   "Fifty-fifty.  Sometimes I just stay there at the dock and piddle around
on the million things old boats always need.  Sometimes I go out, find a
spot in the bay, drop anchor, and let the waves rock me to sleep. 
Especially in the cool months.  Too many mosquitoes in the summer, and I
don't relish the heat and humidity AND mosquitoes."

   "By yourself?" she looked a bit concerned.

   "Usually.  I've gotten a couple of like-minded guys and we've done some
sailing out in the Gulf, but guys usually want activities that involve
girls, and..."

   "Do you bring girls out?"

   I knew, was actually sort of surprised, but I knew where this was
heading.  Softly, gently, but still heading in that direction.  "No.  Not
often.  Never overnight.  Any girl I'd be interested in would see spending
the night on a boat as implied consent that certain activities might be
acceptable, whether that was what I had in mind or not."

   She laughed.  "That's sort of like that guy who said he never wanted to
join a club that would accept him as a member."

   "I'll buy that," I said.  "I'm not saying that I wouldn't bring a girl
out, and I'm not saying that if I did, that certain activities would be
presumed.  It's just that I desire laughter and intelligent conversation
that doesn't involve the front page of People Magazine and uses a
multi-syllabic vocabulary."

   "You're awfully picky, you know..." Jo said.

   "Oh, it's worse than that.  I know that I live in a city and I live in
an apartment, but I don't consider myself an urban male and as a result, I
will not accept an urban female.  I mean, if she's going to make sailing
part of her life, then those long painted nails aren't going to cut it. 
And if she thinks that sort of thing is attractive to me, then she hasn't
taken time to find out about me."

   "You're still picky," Jo said, idly looking at the hands of a flutist.

   "I go out from time to time, usually with friends," I said.  "Bars and
clubs are not a suitable venue to find prospective mates."

   "Prospective mates?" she said.

   "Female friends.  Prospective mates.  Yeah, I am friends with a few
women, but only on a very casual level.  They see this," I said, passing a
finger down the scar line, "and it takes a lot to get past it.  So
'friends' is as good as it gets."

   "With benefits?" Jo asked shyly.  Then, "I'm sorry.  That's a bit
personal.  I don't mean to pry.  It's your private life."

   "It's a legitimate question.  The answer is 'no'.  Sex is not just a
physical thing to me.  If it was, then life would be different.  It's not.
A person can get sex easily.  Pay for it.  Or, like you say, 'friends with
benefits'.  Or a casual hookup from a casual meeting." I sighed.  "That's
not me.  So..."

   "So I understand, then.  You really are a throwback from a bygone era.
Is there a time machine somewhere that I don't know about?"

   "Things don't die abruptly when civilization changes, Jo.  Somebody has
to be the first.  Then there's the swell, the era of an idea, a condition,
a set of standards.  And then as the age dies, the numbers who hold the
idea thin out, and eventually there has to be the last one."

   "You're not the last one," Jo said.  "but the numbers are getting thin
on the ground." A heavy sigh and then, "You know, this is so awfully
serious," in a little girl's voice.  "How about that Mozart concerto for
Flute and Harp?"

   She reached into the back seat and in a couple of minutes a silver flute
touched trained lips and magic resulted.  She played bits, and then she
played snippets of other pieces, happy, lively, lilting, uplifting.  She
dropped the instrument to her lap.

   "Better?"

   "Better," I said.  "Definitely better."

   "We'll call it my little bit of magic."

   "Die Zauberflöte," I said.

   Giggle.  "Yeah.  Magic Flute.  For you it works.  You're smiling,
Stoney."

   "Couple of good reasons to smile, Jo.  Pretty music.  Prettier girl."

   I got a big smile in return.  "Thank you for thinking so."

   "You gave me something that you knew would get to me, Jo."

   "You need a reason to smile more, Stoney.  It does you well."

   "Scars and all?" I was suddenly self-conscious.

   "A smile is a smile.  Yours says 'thank you' better than words." And she
put her hand over mine.  "Friends help friends, you know.  You sort of
opened up and showed a bit of yourself.  Got sad.  Your friend, that would
be me, wanted you happy."

   The remainder of the drive back to campus was filled with more or less
happy and light conversations about educational issues (for her) and work
issues (for me).  When we parked, I helped her carry her bags to her
apartment.  She unlocked the door and let me in.  We dropped the bags in
her room.  I glanced around.  Twin bed.  Neatly made up.  Photos on the
dresser.  Her at the age of maybe nine or ten and a red-headed woman and a
man wearing Army dress uniform.  Her as a teen with a Corgi.

   She saw my eyes, picked up the picture of the three people.  "This is me
when I was ten.  Dad was getting ready to go to Iraq." She picked up the
other picture.  "This is my last picture with Bobbie.  He left us that
year. I was sixteen and I cried for a week."

   "Cute dog.  Mine was a chocolate Labrador.  Loved 'im more than my
brother."

   "Bobbie WAS my brother.  It's hard for a military family to move around
with a pet, but Dad did it for me, quarantines, extra travel expenses, all
that.  I look back at that and I think I was very much indulged, at least
that part."

   "You seem to be one of the more sane examples of an army brat," I said.

   "I know a little about that," she said.  "You want a cold drink?  We can
sit for a while unless you have to run."

   "No place I could go compares to hanging around with you," I said.

   "Look, Stoney," she said while closing the refrigerator.  "I was serious
about boyfriend-girlfriend.  Not just while we were in Austin."

   "I was hoping something along those lines.  So, you doing anything
tomorrow?  Noonish?"

   Her eyes sparkled.  "What do you have in mind?"

   "Unless you have plans, I thought we'd go check on the boat.  Bring some
stuff for a picnic lunch there."

   "I'd love it!" she squealed.  "Dad says a man's boat is very personal,
like a mate."

   "I dunno about that.  It's a boat."

   "You didn't buy it because you didn't think it was special."

   "Well..."

   She smiled.  "So I get to meet the other lady in your life.  What time
tomorrow?"

   "It's about an hour or so from here.  I'll pick you up at nine?"

   "I'll be ready."

   "Uh, don't wear your tea dress..."

   Giggle.  "My tea dress is at home, and I know what to expect on a
sailboat.  I shall dress appropriately."

   "Gonna be a little too cool for a bikini," I offered.

   She feigned outrage.  "You think I'm wearing my bikini the first time I
get on some random guy's boat?"

   The door opened and Key, one of Jo's apartment mates, bopped in.  "Oh,
hi, Stoney.  I kinda figured that Jo was with you when she didn't show up
on the bus."

   Jo smiled.  "You know you could've ridden with us."

   Key said, "There's a couple reasons I didn't.  First one is I wanted you
two to have that trip to y'allselves.  An' second, I wanted to see how our
buddy fared with his smashed up nose.  Jeez, Stoney!  If all you did was
push 'im, I'd hate to see what he'd look like if you really got mad."

   "So give us the scoop," Jo said.

   "He didn't talk much.  Word's pretty much out that he made unwanted
advances on Jo and a disabled veteran, that'd be you, Stoney, put 'im on
'is ass with one punch." Key grinned.  "The bus ride was actually kind of
pleasant without his smart ass mouthing off like he does.  He didn't get
any sympathy."

   "Any idea how long he's out of the trumpet business?" I asked.  I
actually felt kind of bad.

   "Weeks, probably.  You kinda mashed his lips into his teeth.  Broke two
front teeth out."

   "I didn't know that," I said.  "I feel bad."

   "For what?" Key countered.  "Jo can tell you.  The guy's an ass."

   "Yeah, but all I wanted to do was stop him from messing with Jo.  Then
he started swinging."

   "An' when he did that, he got what he deserved.  Everybody says you're
like some kinda hero.  Protectin' Jo an' all that."

   "I would've done it for you, too, Key," I said.  "'S what a man's
supposed to do."

   "Jo, you actually like this Neanderthal?" Key laughed.

   "Ummm-hmmm," Jo said.

   "Well, I need to drag my knuckles on over to my own place and get ready
for the week," I said, standing.

   Jo saw me to the door.  At the door she put her arms around my neck and
hauled me in for a kiss.  I felt a flutter of her tongue against my lips
and met it with my own.  She pulled back, smiling.  "You know, we could
actually see each other during the week."

   "I think I'd like that," I said.

   And I thought about that idea halfway back to my apartment.  Halfway
back, because that's when the phone rang.  I looked.  Eddie.  "Hey, bud,
how's your dad?"

   A relieved-sounding Eddie answered, "He's gonna be fine.  Little stroke.
Clogged carotid arteries.  They bored 'im out and he's good to go."

   "That's a relief," I said.  "The system worked perfectly for the
concert."

   "I heard about some a'that," he said.  "What's this about you an' that
flute player walkin' around holdin' hands?"

   "Jo wants to be my friend and I think that's a positively great idea."

   "And you punched out the trumpet guy?"

   "Okay, how much did you hear?"

   "Heard you punched out Jo's old boyfriend and came back to hotel holding
her hand." He laughed.  "No, don't get all nutty.  I heard that she dated
him one time a long time ago.  And he's nuts."

   "Here I was, worried sick about you and your dad, and you call me to
give me a ration of crap."

   "Well, while I was waiting on word from Dad's doctor, I got a phone call
you might be interested in."

   "Oh yeah?"

   "Yeah," Eddie said.  "Remember that company that we tried selling our
idea to?"

   "Yeah..." While our sound collection system was a pleasant mental
exercise, we harbored the silly idea that we might want to make money from
it.  We, well, actually, Eddie's the one, had conversations with a couple
of companies in the field.

   "Springs Group is putting money on the table."

   "Good money?" I asked.

   "I think so.  I can put mine in the bank and be really choosy about what
I have to do for a living.  I think you'll be happy with the number."

   "They're serious, then.  What's the deliverable for it to work?"

   "Our technical drawings, an operating manual, demos."

   "Sounds like we can do that.  I have the system modeled in AutoCAD. 
Hardware lists.  The set-up lists will convert to manuals.  Our software
guy can document his part.  We put it all together and..."

   "Payday," Eddie said.  "Not Bill Gates money, but money, nonetheless. 
Now, you and that flute player.  What's the deal?"

   "She's really nice.  Friendly.  Seems attracted to me.  I'd have to be
dead and disintegrated not to be interested in her."

   "She's a pretty little thing.  Future?"

   "Nothing past going to the boat tomorrow."

   "Well, you do that tomorrow.  Monday after work, we need to get on this
stuff.  Get with Bob and run an edit of the concert for a demo.  We have
the garage band demos.  If they impress some real sound people, we'll get
paid for this."

   "Will they let us keep our prototype setup?"

   "I dunno.  Why?"

   "I like working with the orchestra."

   Eddie laughed.  "Not just a bunch of smart-assed college kids any more,
huh?  Do you need the recording system for an excuse?"

   "Nope, I guess not.  Not any more."

   "The other side of that is that after they buy out our little
corporation, I go with the deal.  They're offering me a neat position.  I
hope that doesn't make you mad, buddy."

   "Considering that I never expected to make a dime off this whole thing,"
I said, "I'm okay with any money that comes in.  I'm gonna hate seeing you
go.  Who's gonna stir shit at the office?"

   "I'm leaving that in your able hands, Stoney.  You're perfectly
capable."

   So I had a couple of pleasant thoughts in my head when I finally went to
sleep.

   ------

   Davis was intent on the group exiting the building seventy yards away.
"I hope the QRF gets here quick, LT!  These guys ain't our friends." His
M-16 bounced with the first round he fired and I joined in.  We were having
an effect, but it only takes a few seconds for a man to cover seventy
yards. We weren't going to get all of them, especially when the RPG's took
out the Hummer with the fifty-caliber.

   Then one of the RPG's was pointed at me and Davis and Smitty.  I shifted
aim to that guy and I think that I got a hit, but he still pulled the
trigger.  I heard Davis scream once and flop over.  I felt a thud against
my left side.

   I tried to keep shooting.  With one eye I saw my rifle was trashed. 
There was Davis's within reach.  I reached.  Missed.  Pushed with right
leg. Grabbed Davis's rifle.  Looked down-range.  Another of our friends
with an RPG, aiming.  If he hits, I'm gone.  I shoot just about the time he
does and it's behind me and the next thing I see is a mouthful of bad teeth
and a long knife and I'm pointing the rifle with one functioning hand and I
pull the trigger and three rounds and...

   ------

   I'm sitting up.  My pillow is wet.  At least when my eyes are open I
don't see the faces of my platoon, young men who will be forever young.

   A dash through the shower takes care of the cold sweat, and a pill gets
me back to sleep with the alarm clock set to wake me up in time to meet Jo.

   Breakfast is a granola bar and a vitamin and a glass of milk.  And a
phone call.

   "Hi, Stoney," the soft voice said.  "Are we still on?"

   "I was calling you to ask the same thing."

   "I'll be waiting for you when you get here.  Do I need to bring
anything?"

   "Just you.  I should have everything we need already on the boat." The
lilt in her voice was enough to brighten my day.  Reason enough to keep
going.  I grabbed a bag of sandwich fixings and headed out the door.

   A short drive later I was knocking on Jo's door.  She answered, an
instrument case in hand.

   "You're bringing a flute?" I asked.

   "Yep.  They're magic, remember?  This is my old one from high school. 
It's got some miles on it and it's not the same quality as my concert one,
but it's just what I need for today." And she stretched up close enough to
land a kiss.

   "Could I have another?"

   Smile.  "Yes."

   Walking out to the car, I said, "I like your outfit."

   She shook her head, a short red ponytail sticking out of the back of a
baseball cap.  "I don't look like a bag lady?"

   "Hardly."

   "Is my cap okay?  I thought, sun and all that, a cap would be good."

   "Oh, it looks charming.  That ponytail is pure whimsy.  But if you do
this boat thing too much, we'll have to get you a proper sailing hat."

   She caught me looking again.  "Either you really like it, or you really
hate it.  The ponytail."

   I smiled.  "Put me down for a like." We got in the car.

   "Go ahead.  You can touch it."

   I gave it a playful flip.  Inside I wanted to feel it brush against my
cheek.  I sort of nudged it so her head turned in my direction and she
leaned forward.  And we kissed.  Good thing I was wearing canvas boat
shoes, because my toes curled.  We broke apart with mutual sighs.

   "Gosh, Stoney..." she said breathlessly.  "That..."

   "Was not planned.  Very pleasant..."

   "Just 'pleasant'?"

   "Jo, that's the best kiss I can ever remember."

   "I think we sort of collided.  I was going to say the same thing." From
the smile I saw, I actually think that the girl meant it.

   We hit the road.  Sunday morning, traffic was relatively sparse as we
headed out of the city towards the little marina where my boat lived,
chatting amiably.

   At the marina gate, I punched in my access code.  Jo's head swiveled as
she took in the sights of a couple of dozen (I said it was a small marina)
boats tied up to floating piers.  I pulled into a parking slot and we got
out.  I grabbed a couple of bags.

   "Let me get one of those," she said.

   "Nope.  I got 'em." I nodded in the direction of the nearest pier. 
"Down that one.  Last boat on the left."

   "Port," she said.  "Dad taught me boat stuff."

   "We're still on land, so it's left," I laughed.  "And it's nice to know
that you know your port from your starboard."

   "And my fore from my aft..." She was walking ahead of me, those jeans
moving over a particularly nice little 'aft'.  She got to the boat. 
"Niiiiice!"

   "I work hard to keep 'er that way."

   "What is this?"

   "Nonsuch 36."

   "I thought you said forty." Giggle.  "Men always think size matters."

   "Much bigger and I would've been hard put to single-hand 'er." She
stepped aboard and I followed her.

   "Feels solid," she said.

   "Should," I said.  "She weighs eight and a half tons.  Let me get the
hatch unlocked and opened up." I fished the keys out of my pocket and
opened the companionway.  It didn't smell too musty.  A little
solar-powered vent fan circulated air, I visited the silly old girl at
least weekly.  "You want the tour?"

   Blue eyes twinkled.  "Come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly."



   ------

   Chapter 6

   "I'm not..." I stammered.

   "And I wouldn't be here If I thought you would, Stoney!  Let's look!"
She started through the companionway.  I followed.  We stood in the main
cabin.

   "Wow!  This is roomy!" she said.

   "Yeah, one of the things that sold me.  She was at the top end of what I
wanted to spend, but once I got in this cabin, I was sold.  I like not
worrying about bumping my head." I pointed to the port side, aft.  "That's
a berth.  Really comfy for one.  I suppose it'd be cozy for two."

   She smiled.  "I know how they kinda get ambitious describing the
sleeping accommodations on boats.  I didn't understand why I couldn't fit
in between Mom and Dad when I was a kid.  Their boat had a V-berth and one
like this."

   "Then you're familiar with marine toilets?" I asked, pushing the door
open to the head.

   "Uh-huh, but wasn't there a bath house onshore?" she asked.

   "Yeah.  That's what I use, but then I'm the guy who has to get the
holding tank pumped out."

   "I don't want to inconvenience you," I said.

   "Stoney," she said, turning to me.  "That kiss in the car ...  D'ya
think you can work up another one?"

   "Uh..."

   "I don't mean to be forward," she smiled, "but I thought that was a
really good kiss."

   "I didn't want to take a momentary lapse as some sort of sign," I said.

   She stepped towards me.  "Sign this," she said, putting her arms around
my neck.  "Stoney, I really like you.  A little kissing is not a momentary
lapse." And she kissed me.  And I kissed her back.  And wrapped my arms
around her.

   When our lips parted she was right there.  Close.  Blue eyes.  Red lips.
Smiling.  Wisps and tendrils of a delicate perfume in my nostrils.  My feet
were firmly planted on the sole of the cabin but I felt like I was falling.
Falling.  A long, long way.

   "Mister Stonewall Jackson, I'm right here.  You just went far, far away,
but I'm right here."

   "I'm very happy you are, Jo."

   "Where'd you go, Stoney?  Was that kiss ...  Am I replacing somebody? 
Memories?"

   "Oh, Jo, nothing like that.  Sit down."

   "You sit down first." I sat.  She sat, too, lounging back in my arms.

   She laid her head back against my chest.  "Okay, so we're very good
friends now.  You can talk to me.  What's the deal with Stoney and girls?"

   "There's no deal, sweet lady," I said.  "I've had girlfriends.  Don't
have any right now, present company excepted.  Haven't really had a
girlfriend since - oh, in the last few years.  Friends who happen to be
female, yes.  Official girlfriends, no.  Nobody applied for the position."

   "I did."

   "Yes, you did.  A very pleasant surprise.  When you did it, I felt like
we were kids on the schoolyard."

   Giggle.  "Kinda the way I meant it to feel," she said.  "Didn't want you
to think I was one of those wild college girls linin' up the night's
hook-up."

   "I never saw you like that.  I would've been terribly shocked to find
that out."

   "Why?"

   "I watched the way you carry yourself around others, especially males.
You're friendly enough, but you seem to keep a certain distance.  Like a
little wall."

   "You, sir, jumped my wall." She sighed.  "Look, I dated.  Even right up
until we connected."

   "We connected?"

   "I'm connected.  Are you connected?" She twisted to look into my eyes.

   "Exactly how connected can I safely be?"

   "Stoney, I can see something in your eyes.  It's not about me and you.
It's about you.  But when I see me and you, I like what I see."

   "You've known me a month and a half," I said.  "We've been sort of
hanging together now for a week."

   "Yeah, but you're not the only one that looks, you know.  I can see your
face change.  Like you're guarding against something and you let your guard
down and it shows up."

   I knew what she was describing and her assessment was accurate.  "You're
correct.  Especially about the 'me and you' part."

   "But the other part?"

   "That too."

   "Stoney, I'm your girlfriend.  I care enough to listen to what ever you
want to say, whenever you want to say it.  That's part of being a friend."

   "Don't take this wrong, Jo.  You're precious, and I know you're my
friend.  Some day the time will come that I can try to explain some
things."

   She flopped over.  Planted a kiss on my lips.  "But not today.  I'm not
pushing.  Really.  I'm just being available." She tilted her head, eyes
atwinkle, lips moist.  Got another kiss.  Several actually, some big, some
small, heavily punctuated with sighs.

   On a purely recreational level, it was wonderful.  Sweet, relaxed,
tender, like two people connecting together.  Okay, I told myself, just go
with it.  It's just kissing.  She's pretty.  You LIKE her.  It was my turn
to sigh.

   Her eyes fluttered open.  "See," she said, punctuating with a little
fluttery brush of a kiss.  "That's one of those 'Stoney's thinking'
moments."

   "Yes, little one, it was indeed.  Stoney was thinking about how
absolutely wonderful this is."

   "It is, isn't it," she said.  "Just like this..."

   Sweet.  Desirable.  A delightful cross between coquettish and demure. 
"Gosh, princess," I said.  One more burning kiss and she sat back.

   Tiny beads of perspiration flecked her forehead.  "Stoney, I ...  Whew!"

   "I know, Jo.  Exactly."

   She giggled.  "Mister Stoney!  You're cute!"

   I smiled.  "It's been a long time since somebody called me cute."

   "I get to say.  So, are we gonna take this thing out today?"

   "Sure, change the subject," I laughed.

   "Change THIS," she said, pulling me in for another kiss.  "That's not
what I'm doing.  But this thing is your pride and joy and I thought you'd
like to show her off."

   "Your wish is my command, princess," I said.  "Lemme check the oil." I
removed the hatch to uncover the little diesel engine and eyeballed the
dipstick, then replaced the cover.  "Okay, let's get 'er outta here."

   I cranked the engine, letting it idle while we untied the mooring lines,
then together in the cockpit, I eased the boat out of the slip and we idled
out of the little marina.  In the channel I increased speed.  We worked our
way easily past the dockside businesses.

   "You're laughing," she said.

   "Yeah.  Those people staring at us, thinking 'There goes some rich
asshole on his yacht.' And I'm not rich."

   She laughed.  "This is nice.  I forgot how nice it is."

   "I like it," I said.  We cleared the channel and entered the bay,
following the markers that told me where the water was deep enough to
accommodate the draft of my keel.  I explained that to her.  She nodded.

   "Just take the wheel and keep us between the markers and let me get the
cover off the sail," I said.

   "'Kay, cap'n," she replied.

   I stowed the cover in a locker.  "Another two markers and we'll be deep
enough to leave the channel," I said.  "Then we'll raise the sail."

   A few minutes later, we were ready.  "Okay, I'm going to raise the sail.
You can expect it to pull us off course, so get ready to put some effort
into the wheel."

   "I think I can handle it," she said.  She did a good job.  I cleated the
sheet securely and rejoined her in the cockpit.  We chose an easy reach for
a course and I fiddled with the sheet to optimize the sail's draft, then
killed the engine.

   Bereft of the mechanical noise, the world changed to wind and water and
sun.  And a smiling freckled face with blue eyes and an outrageous pony
tail.  Life, at least in the immediate future, was very good.  "We'll get a
few more days like this before winter," I said.  "It's really perfect!"

   And I looked at perfection sitting there beside me.

   "So where is it you go when you anchor out?"

   "South of here.  Just get out of the way of the other traffic."

   "We oughtta do that, then break out the sandwich stuff."

   "Okay, then." I eased off the wind, let Jo take the helm while I made
adjustment to the mainsheet, and we put a couple of miles into the open
width of the bay, laughing and talking together.  Finally, we rounded up
into the wind.  As the we came to a stop, I dropped the sail into the lazy
jacks and tossed the day anchor over the bow.  Drifting back, the boat's
momentum set the hook and the world was silent except for the whistle of
wind in the rigging and the slap of waves against the hull.  Well, not
completely silent.  It never is in the bay.  Ocean-going ships course the
deep-water channel in the distance and powerboats are a constant
aggravation, but we were as close to tranquility as you can get without
putting miles between the boat and the shore of the Gulf.

   "Sandwiches," she said.  And sandwiches it was, and cold drinks and the
location of our conversation on the boat directed its content.  We talked
of day trips and jaunts across the open waters of the Gulf of Mexico and
motoring up the channels and canals.

   "I wanna do an over-nighter," Jo blurted.  I gazed at her, parsing the
statement.  "There are plenty of places to sleep, so it doesn't have to
mean THAT, Stoney.  I just have this magical thought about sitting here in
the cockpit in the misty morning, sipping a hot cup of coffee and watching
the sun on the water."

   "I've had those magical moments, but they were always solo.  When I
bring friends, it's not to spend the night swinging at anchor.  The quiet
times..."

   "You don't want to share?" she asked.

   "Oh, certainly not what I mean at all.  It's just it takes the right
person to share.  Somebody who can find the harmony and peace."

   "I can play Greig's "Morning Mood" on my flute to wake you up," she
smiled.

   "Then let's decide on a weekend," I said.  "Before it gets too cold. 
The cabin's heated, but I'm not." I didn't man for that statement to have a
double meaning, but she got a wry smile on her face.

   "We can just bundle up and motor out here.  Drop the anchor, put soup on
for dinner, something else for breakfast, and a pot of hot cocoa at night
and coffee in the morning.  You.  Me.  Music.  You won't have your
solitude, but maybe you can stand it for one night."

   "You're giving this some thought," I said.

   "Uh-huh," she said, nodding and smiling.  "We have the same problem, you
and I, Stoney.  I don't get any 'alone' time either.  And I know that being
out here with you isn't exactly being alone, but I get the feeling that
what it would be is equally good.  Maybe better."

   "Think so?"

   "Yes, I think so.  You seem to know how to leave some silence in a
moment.  And when the moment is over, you know how to break the silence
gently, pleasantly."

   "That's the best explanation of two people being together that I ever
heard, Jo," I said.

   "I'm not that way all the time, Stoney," she said.  "Sometimes I want to
talk and laugh and listen to people's drama and their happiness and things,
but sometimes I want to retreat from it." But then I never had the right
boyfriend, either..." She smiled at me, almost shyly.  "Uh, in that locker
I opened, did I see a banjo?"

   "Yeah, I said.  "it's an old one, but it works."

   "Bring it out.  You've heard me play.  Now it's my turn."

   "I'll do it, but seriously, Jo, I'm not nearly as good with it as you
are with your flute."

   "Wasn't always good, baby," she said.  I caught 'baby'.  I hadn't been
'baby' to anyone in a decade.

   "Okay, then, sweet girl," I said.  I went below and came back up with a
cheap banjo and sat down beside her.  I tuned it up and then played a few
riffs to loosen up my fingers, then I started in a simple old folk tune,
singing along as I played.

   She listened, smile broadening.  "You're not bad at all, Stoney.  I know
that song."

   "Sing with me, then." I started back at the beginning and she sang with
me, her voice exactly as clear and musical when she was singing as when she
was speaking.

   "Let me get my flute.  I can play along, too.  You're in the key of G,
right?"

   "Uh-huh," I answered.  "makes it easy for me."

   Shortly she was seated across the cockpit from me, her old high school
flute in her hands.  "I can watch your fingering so I can see the chord
changes."

   "Okay.  Open is G, this is C, and this is D.  Actually, it's D seventh,
but close enough."

   "I know what a seventh is.  Let's try that song again."

   It WAS music.  The first time through, she ran arpeggios for each chord
change.  The second time, she was onto the melody line, and she was
smiling. Giggle.  "See?  We can do this together."

   "Oh, yeah," I laughed.  "A concert flutist and a hack banjo player."

   "Don't sell yourself short, Stoney.  I think you do that sometimes.  And
exactly whom are we playing to satisfy?  We have an audience of each other.
And I'm happy with what I hear." Smile.  "So I know you know some more."

   I did.  We did, alternating between the two of us singing together and
me singing and playing banjo as she played flute.  I was thinking of how we
were an unlikely pairing and I said as much.

   She put her flute down in her lap.  "I do NOT agree, Stoney.  The only
thing that is the tiniest bit off about us is that you're a little bit
older than most people would expect.  And it's not really that much of a
difference.

   "You're like a perfect bit of physical beauty.  I'm scarred up."

   "You never said 'perfect' before, Stoney.  I'm not."

   "You are.  Why would you think otherwise?"

   "Freckles.  Worse than zits.  Zits go away.  Freckles're forever." She
heaved a little sigh.  I got the feeling she'd done that inventory before.
"My uh ...  breasts are too small.  My hips are too wide.  I'm too tall. 
And red hair.  Don't forget all the 'carrot top' comments."

   "You're so wrong," I replied.  And maybe I was just seeing perfection
because I wanted to see it, but I countered, "You're very feminine.  You're
not supposed to look like a boy.  That takes care of the hips.  Or a milk
cow.  That takes care of the breasts.  And the freckles are like a
constellation for the stars in your eyes..."

   "Shut up before you run out of things to say, Stoney." She pushed me
back against the bulkhead and kissed me.  Long.

   When she backed away, I said, "But I didn't get a chance to tell you how
stunning your hair is.  Or your smile."

   "You need to be careful, sir," she said at close range.  "You're going
to make me think I'm special."

   "You're special," I said, kissing her.

   "You are, too, Randall Stonewall Jackson.  Scar?  Character.  You've
been places.  Done things.  Earned the right to be yourself.  And to find
somebody who can tell the difference between some nancy-boy who thinks that
skateboarding down a handrail proves his manhood and a real man."

   "Nancy-boy?"

   "Mom's term.  She used it on a couple of my choices of high school
boyfriends.  Sometimes Mom isn't politically correct.  Dad either, when you
get 'im going.  And that brings up a delicate subject."

   "Oh?"

   "Yeah.  Next week they're coming to town.  Dad's meeting with one of his
client companies and he's bringing Mom along and they're staying the
weekend." She fixed me with her eyes.  "Now I know we've only been hanging
together for a few days, but if you're up to it, I'd love to have you with
me for at least dinner one night."

   "Meet the parents," I said.

   "Yeah.  I could understand where you might not want to, Stoney.  But
really, it's not as serious and final as it might sound."

   I couldn't help but smile.  "Jo, are they going to be able to determine
that just because you show up with a guy, he's not automatically going to
be their son-in-law?  You couldn't've come from stupid parents."

   She shook her head.  I got to watch that red hair bounce.  "They're not.
But I know that some of my girlfriends have said that some guys really get
nervous about meeting parents.  Like it's a line that's been crossed."

   "I don't think so.  Your dad's a retired colonel.  He and I might have a
little in common."

   "And Mom has something in common with everybody," she smiled.  "So
you'll do it?"

   "Proudly.  Happily.  I am your friend."

   "You know there's more to it than that, Stoney." She watched my eyes. 
"Don't you?" A twinkle appeared in her eye.  "You do!"

   "Am I supposed to?" I asked.

   "I dunno.  I'm not really familiar with all of this."

   "Boyfriend stuff?  Jo, you're too pretty, too smart not to..."

   "I'm just not, Stoney.  I got my story too."

   "David..."

   "Mistake.  I thought he was smart and talented and had a lot of
self-confidence and maybe that 'arrogant' thing he did was just for show. I
almost swore off men after him."

   "Before?  I mean, before David?"

   She bowed her head.  "You're my friend, right?  I can tell you things?"

   "You expect me to tell you things, Jo.  Of course you can tell me
things."

   "I don't talk about it.  But when I was sixteen, I was a victim of a
gang attack."

   "You were raped?"

   "Not officially.  There was no penetration.  But I was carried off by
four guys who had that in mind." She squeezed her eyes closed, then opened
them and continued.  "Some other people came up and that's what saved me
from worse.  I got most of my clothes ripped off.  The guys got kicked out
of school and put in a juvenile house." She continued, "I got raked over
the coals.  Accused of teasing.  Of leading those guys on.  I was just a
band girl, and a bunch of us used to hang our with some of the football
team.  That's who it was.  I pretty much wiped the team out."

   "But you're okay..."

   "Am I?" she said softly.  "I get really scared dealing with men.  I'm
getting better.  But that whole thing about one on one banter..."

   "What did I do?  You sort of fell into me and I fell into you..."

   She smiled just a bit.  "Your eyes.  You look like I felt sometimes."

   "Jo, you're safe with me.  You're too precious to hurt.  I'd kill myself
first."

   "Or somebody else, apparently.  Messed up a trumpet player." She smiled.
"You took up for me."

   "He touched you and you didn't want to be touched.  I woud've put up
with him talking to you until you said 'no', but when he squeezed your
shoulder..."

   "I know.  You're different.  You were in control.  Not reacting from
anger or rage.  I really like you, Stoney.  You're different."

   "You know, Jo, I like you too ...  a lot."

   She smiled.  "I'm sorry I got morose there."

   "Don't apologize.  We're friends.  We talk to each other.  That's what
friends are supposed to be able to do."

   "I have friends," she said.  "And I never told them this.  Not even Key.
And we're pretty close friends.  I don't know why I feel safe opening up to
you like that." She sighed, picking up her flute.  The opening strains of
"Morning Mood" flowed out, soft, lush, evocative, but even more evocative
was the twinkle in those blue eyes.  She dropped the flute away from her
lips.

   I picked up the banjo, slipped the picks onto my fingers and ripped into
"Roll in My Sweet Baby's Arms", a little bit slower than Flatt & Scruggs
played it, but she was smiling and giggling as I sang.

   "Is that for me?" Giggle.

   "Darned straight it's for you!"

   She carefully laid her instrument down and crossed the cockpit as I set
the banjo down.  I spread my arms and she fit herself inside them. 
"Stoney, I will be your sweet baby..."

   "And I shall take care of you..." I left it open ended.  Thoughts were
forming in my mind, though.  Or was it my heart?

   The sun was getting low in the sky when we decided to secure the boat,
weigh anchor, and head back to the marina.  The GPS gave us a course to the
proper spot on the channel we needed to work our way home and Jo handled
the helm as I tended the boat's only sail.  When we neared the channel, I
cranked the little engine up and we did a good job of dousing sail and
changing course into the channel.

   Now that I was confident of my crew, I secured the sail and covered it
and retired to the cockpit, sliding beside her.

   "You act like you trust me," she said.

   "I do.  I get the feeling that you're not gonna let the wheel loose and
start squealing and waving your arms around if something happens."

   "We're gonna trust each other.  You'll learn, Stoney.  One of these days
we can talk about what causes those clouds over your face."

   "If anyone ever hears, it'll be you, Jo." I was serious and getting more
serious each day.  Not about talking.  About Jo.

   Back at the slip, I secured the mooring lines.  By the time I finished,
Jo had deposited a bag of trash in the cockpit, the residue of the day.

   "I put your banjo back in the locker.  "I got my flute.  We have a bag
of trash.  And this is the the left-over bread and lunch meat," she said,
holding up another bag.

   I heard honking.  "We won't take that back with us.  I hear the geese."
I whistled.

   "Geese?"

   "Yeah, there's a couple of pairs of geese here." The honking got louder
as they neared.

   "Awwww, look!" she said.  "How cute!" Four grey geese were paddling
purposefully in our direction.

   "They're notorious moochers," I said.  "And bread and lunch meat will
make 'em happy.  Watch!" I opened the loaf of bread and tossed slices on
the bank near the water.  The flock charged up and started eating.

   "They'll eat lunch meat?" Jo asked.

   "And popcorn.  And just about everything else you toss out there. 
They're kind of like pets.  Or mascots."

   "They're cute!"

   "You wouldn't think that if you stepped in goose crap.  But I learned to
look where I walk.  You would be advised to do so as well."

   Giggle.  "Thanks for the warning."

   "It's not so bad over here.  They like to hang out by the office.  It's
like a minefield there."

   'Minefield'.

   Jo caught the change.  "Stoney, you just did it again.  Baby, you're
gonna have to tell me one of these days."

   "I'm sorry, Jo.  In due time." If it was going to be worked out, here's
a chance, I told myself.

   We were loading things into the car when the marina manager walked up.
"Hey, Stoney," he said.

   "Hi, Gary.  Uh, this is Jo.  Jo, Gary.  He's the manager here."

   "Hi, Gary," Jo said brightly, extending a hand.  "Glad to meet you! 
Nice place.  Love the geese!"

   "Watch where you step," he laughed.

   "So I've been told."

   Gary looked at me.  "You gave Jo the tour?"

   "Showed her the bath house.  Then we went out for the day.  Didn't show
her the rest of the place.  We fed the geese."

   "Yeah, and next spring we're gonna have more little geese," he said.

   "Oh, neat!" Jo trilled.

   "Ya think so.  We might trade some with the flock up the channel," Gary
said.  "Want some branches in the goosey family tree, you know..."

   "Gary's a retired state biologist," I said.  "Used to slog around the
marshes ogling whooping cranes."

   "Really?" Jo said.  "That's interesting!  They were almost extinct."

   Gary lifted the cap off his bald head, wiping his brow.  "Yeah,
apparently whooping cranes benefit from us following them around in the
marsh.  Anyway, nice to meet you, Miss Jo.  Stoney, bring 'er back.  If she
wants whooping cranes, I got pictures."

   Jo's red hair bounced.  "Next time, Mister Gary."

   "Just Gary," he said.  "See you two later!"

   We got in the car and worked our way back towards home.  I escorted her
to the door of her apartment, thought I was going to get the little kiss at
the door before I left, but she unlocked the door and dragged me inside,
much to the delight of Key.

   When Jo threw her arms around my neck and I wrapped mine around her
waist and we kissed, Key snorted, "Well, so much for the 'How'd your day
go?' question." She saw Jo's flute case on the sofa.  "Girl, don't tell me
you brought your flute.  And you expect me to think you actually took it
out of the case?"

   "Key, my dear friend, indeed we did.  And we played music together in
the middle of the bay."

   "Uh-huh.  I believe you, too," Key said, dark eyes laughing.  "Jo, I
haven't seen you this happy in like, ever!" she turned to me.  "Stoney
Jackson, you did okay again."

   "Why thank you, Miss Key," I said.  "Now, I have to go home and get
ready for my real job tomorrow."

   "Hang on, Stoney.  One more!" Jo said.

   And I left for home with my lips still tingling.



   ------

   Chapter 7

   We had dinner one more time before her mom and dad were due to hit town.
We found a little place that served some good Italian cooking and talked
about our respective days, mine at the engineering house, hers in school.

   Eddie's deal was, at least on the surface, solid.  It had better be.  He
turned in his notice at work.  That move got me a run into the big boss's
office where I was grilled pretty heavy.

   "No," I said, "I'm not planning on going anywhere.  I kinda like the
place."

   He asked, "This thing that you and Eddie worked on, we're looking at it
being our property.  You signed the intellectual property agreement when
you started work."

   Okay, I know the answer to this one.  "That would be a bad move.  First,
none of the work was done on company time or using company resources. 
Second, it's completely unrelated to our core or our peripheral businesses.
Third, do you really want to show the rest of the company that this is the
treatment they might expect?"

   He laughed.  "You've given this some thought."

   "You bet," I said.  "You didn't hire me because I was stupid.  I gave it
a lot of thought.  You don't need me doing some sort of conflict of
interest thing, nor would I consciously rob the company of anything.  I
wasn't raised like that, Bob.  Eddie wasn't a bad engineer, and neither am
I."

   "That's what I thought," he said.

   "As a matter of fact, I treated that whole exercise like a research lab.
I've learned some hardware and software things that might have some
application in just the right places.  If we have a client doing something
that's fast and unpredictable and unstable.  I have a bunch of notes. 
Might publish.  Under OUR banner, you know..."

   Bob laughed.  "That would be a kick.  Just let us clear it before it
goes out."

   "Sure," I said.  "That's in the employment agreement."

   I explained all that to Jo over dinner.  "I can understand some of Bob's
trepidation.  You're telling me that Eddie's getting a few hundred thousand
dollars for the system you guys built.  And you're getting a third?  How
does that stack up with one of your company's engineering projects?"

   "Bottom end.  We do billion-dollar facilities.  If they were asked to
pick up a quarter-million dollar engineering project, they'd look at what
else was on the schedule and they'd probably dodge the little project.  But
I can see where a lawyer and a bean-counter might look at tagging something
that already exists, like our recording and production system, as
low-hanging fruit, just waiting to be picked.  But Bob says we're clear."

   "Good!  What're you gonna do with the money?" she asked.

   "Investment, I guess.  I have everything I want.  Nice place to live. 
My boat.  The car's two years old.  I don't need a vacation right now, and
if I did, I'd take one..."

   She looked at me.  "Seriously now.  If Stoney was going on vacation,
where would he go?"

   "You know, I haven't really thought about it.  I usually take a few days
and go away on the boat.  I'm afraid I'm not much of a tourist."

   "Why not?"

   I had my reasons.  Let's see how the main one fits.  "If I'm having a
good time, I'd like to have somebody to share it with."

   "So you don't, like, take a lady friend?" Jo asked seriously.

   "Those that might go, I don't want to take.  I figure I don't want to
damage my karma by spending a good time with somebody who might not be in
it for anything more than a free week someplace and sleeping with me is the
only down side."

   "That's rather harsh, don't you think?"

   "I've been burnt, Jo.  If I'm not good enough to hang around your
friends here in town, then why am I good enough to go with to New York?"

   "Uh..."

   "I don't like shallow people, Jo.  Guys or girls."

   "What makes you think I'm not shallow, buddy?" Her face almost looked
serious.  The little quiver as she struggled not to smile is what gave her
away.  I was becoming an expert on Jo.  There are worse areas in which one
might claim expertise.

   "'Bout seventy-three reasons, red-headed girl," I said.  "You don't have
the affectations.  You smile when you play.  You smile when you're talking
with friends.  You're too darned intelligent and you don't seem to waste
your time on following the lives..."

   "'Great minds discuss ideas; average minds discuss events; small minds
discuss people.' Eleanor Roosevelt said that.  My dad, whom, may I remind
you, you're going to meet for dinner Thursday, hammered that into my poor
little head as soon as I was old enough to know what 'discuss' meant." She
smiled.

   "And what did your mother say about that overbearing exhibition of
paternal control?"

   "My dear mother," she said, broadening into a semblance of an Irish
brogue, "thinks to this very day that the sun rises and sets upon the
command of Colonel Anders Solheim.  And she never fails to remind me that I
have been a particularly happy experience in child-rearing for the two of
them."

   I laughed.  One thing I'd never heard escape the lips of Miss Johanna
Solheim was the typical 'my parents are sooooo old/boring/uncool/etc." To
be honest, I was looking forward to meeting a couple that could produce a
Jo.

   "See," she said, "you're thinking again, aren't you?"

   "Guilty," I said.  "Was just thinking of some of those other reasons. 
Came up with a flute solo."

   "Speaking of," she said, " can you read music?"

   "Yeah, why?"

   "I mean, can you read music and translate it to your banjo?"

   "I am not as proficient as you seem to be with your flute.  I can
sight-read, but my mind and my fingers aren't nearly as fast as I wish they
were." I looked at her face.  "Where's this heading?"

   "Oh, a silly exercise..."

   "This is gonna be good, I bet."

   She smiled.  "You know how I want to do that Mozart flute and harp
concerto?"

   "Yeah ...  Soooo..."

   "Mozart didn't know about banjos.  They weren't invented yet.  I have
the music.  The harp part."

   "Johanna, I have listened to that piece a hundred times.  There's no
earthly way that I can get those sounds out of a banjo."

   She gave me a giggle.  "No, I know that, and I think you'd burn out a
finger if you tried.  But you know that a lot of Mozart is scales and
arpeggios.  You can cut those down to single notes or simpler structures
within the chord progression."

   I smiled back.  "There you go talking like a music major," I said.

   "I think that you and I need to try."

   "Lemme have it.  I'll try, on the condition that you don't laugh.  I'm
going to attempt to take a banjo back in time..."

   We finished our dinner.

   "You need to come up to the apartment.  The music is in there," she
said.

   "You just want Key to make fun of me again," I said.

   "Oh, poor baby.  I'll tell 'er not to make fun of you again." Jo
laughed. Key and I had a running laugh about me beating up a band member.
She made a point of mentioning it every time I showed up.

   We walked hand in hand up to Jo's door and went inside.  Key was curled
up in an impossible twist with a laptop.  She looked up when we walked in.
"Hi, Jo's white boy," she grinned.  "I got an angle on an uppity violinist
if you want something to do."

   "You're just evil," I returned.  "But you're Jo's friend, so I tolerate
you."

   "Not to mention that I'm an endangered species.  I'm the only black
oboist I ever met."

   "And you're my second-favoritest orchestra person," I replied.

   Jo had her hand on my shoulder, leaning against me.  Key smiled.  "Oh,
yeah, sure!  My parents see me playin' oboe, an' that's all cool 'n' stuff.
But I think they gonna draw the line at me bringin' home a white boy!"

   That statement got Jo to giggling.  "Key, you know we NEED to do that!
We can show up at your mom and dad's for lunch.  You walk in with Stoney on
your arm, and introduce 'im.  I'll just tag along."

   "No way," I said, "I ain't getting beat up by a big black guy!"

   "Oh, you so racist," Key laughed.  "Dad ain't that big.  'Sides, he
played trumpet.  You can whup those guys."

   "Seeeeeee," I whined to Jo, "She's doin' it again!"

   "Well, baby, you just go home tonight and I'll have another talk with
her," Jo said.

   It was getting late.  "Okay," I said.  "Had a wonderful evening."

   "Then you just need to give me one more thing, dear," she said, swinging
me around to face her.  We kissed.  I let my hands slide around her waist,
feeling her softness.

   "One more," I said.

   "Okay.  Just one."

   I left with my feet barely touching the pavement.

   During the day at the office Thursday, I was at my desk, a huge drawing
on the big monitor of my workstation, a pad full of notes and rough
calculations before me, and the phone rang.

   "WB Engineering.  This is Stoney Jackson.  Can I help you?"

   "You can escort me to dinner.  That would be a big help!  How's your day
going?" Jo's voice.

   I smiled.  Pleasant face filled my head, replacing the power
distribution drawing that was sucking the life out of my soul.  "I'll
rescue you if you rescue me," I returned.

   "What do you need rescuing from?"

   "I'm in the middle of the power system for a small Central American
country.  I need rescue."

   "Then how about you pick me up at five-thirty.  That gives us both time
to clean up and look presentable."

   "Should I wear a suit?"

   "No.  I've seen what you wear at work.  That's plenty good.  That 'tie
and dress shirt' thing you do."

   "Got it," I said.  She'd showed up for lunch one day.  Caught me on the
day I was doing my part of a big presentation to a client.  My normal
attire didn't include a tie.  As a couple, Jo and I stayed pretty informal
and comfortable when out together, but tonight was different.  It had been
a month or so since she'd seen her parents and if she was bringing me along
and she wanted me wearing a tie, then I'd better be wearing a tie.

   "And Stoney?"

   "Yes, Jo?"

   "You're my friend, okay?  But you're the first guy I've brought to meet
Mom and Dad since I got out of high school."

   "I shall be on my best behavior," I said.

   "I'm not worried about you, Stoney.  Just that it might be a shock to
Mom and Dad."

   "You asked ME, remember?"

   "Yes, I did.  You're my friend.  You and Dad are both soldiers.  And Mom
knows that there's this guy that I hang out with.  That would be you."

   "As long as it makes you smile, princess."

   "'Kay, baby.  I'll let you finish your day."

   "Okay, sweetness.  See you after work."

   "Sweetness?  Who's 'sweetness'?" came a voice from outside my door. 
That would be Bradley Sykes, another engineer in a building full of
engineers.

   "A particularly interesting lady," I said.

   "Oh, really?  How'd you meet 'er?"

   "I put a microphone and camera in front of her and asked her to play her
flute."

   "Oh," he said.  "That was you an' Eddie's media system, then?"

   "Yeah.  She's in the university's orchestra.  We used 'em for guinea
pigs when we were doing the shakedowns of the system."

   "College girl?  Little young, huh?"

   "Not too young.  She's a senior.  Twenty-one, almost twenty-two.  I have
a few years on 'er, but not much.  Besides, friends, okay?"

   "Got pictures?"

   "As a matter of fact, I do." There was a file on my workstation.  At
first it was there because the company foots the bill for a full-blown
PhotoShop package, and I wanted to give her some pictures.  Of late,
though, I find myself spending idle moments with that face in front of me,
blue eyes, red bangs pushed sideways by an errant breeze, and the smile
that is almost a defining feature on that pretty face.  I pulled up one. 
"Here she is," I said.

   He walked around to look at my monitor.  'Wow.  I'd call 'er sweetie,
too.  You two serious?"

   "Seriously friends," I said.  "She's young and too beautiful and too
talented to even dream about."

   "Then why's she your friend?  Her idea?  Yours?" Brad was ten or fifteen
years my senior.  He had a quick, acerbic wit and was respected for his
technical capabilities.  Socially, though, he and I had nothing more than
the exchanges of jokes or current events or the occasional office tale
between us.  And now her was making me think about my feelings.

   "Oh, I don't know," I said.  " We kinda started talking, then we sort of
hung out when I went with the orchestra to Austin for a concert, and now
she's my girlfriend."

   "Well, let's just analyze this," he said.  "That's what we do sometimes.
You know, forensics."

   "Ooooo-kay," I replied.  "Let's see where you go with this."

   "Who brought up the 'hanging out' thing?  Did you chase 'er down?"

   "No."

   "Who brought up the 'girlfriend' thing?"

   "She did."

   "Now don't take this wrong, but some women today, they're..."

   "She's not."

   "So, is she blind?"

   "Oh, hell no!"

   "So this girl knows what you look like and what you sound like and what
you do, and she finds you pleasant enough to call you her boyfriend?"

   "Yeah."

   "And you're okay with this?"

   "Yeah.  And tonight we're having dinner with her mom and dad."

   "Stoney, I didn't think we hired idiots at this company.  Well, except
for the civil engineering group.  You, son, are in a relationship.  You
know that, don't you?  Or are you really that clueless?"

   "Brad," I said, "Maybe I just didn't think of it in those terms.  She
doesn't seem ...  I dunno, she's just different."

   "This 'different' you speak of, it's a good thing?"

   "Yeah.  A really good thing."

   "Then good luck, buddy.  Lemme know how it turns out." He smirked. 
"You're looking awfully caught.  Not that it's a bad thing, if that's what
you want." He turned, coffee mug in hand, heading back up the hall.

   I turned back to my monitor, gazed at the blue eyes gazing at me.  In my
head, my mind said, "Jo, is this headed someplace?" Okay, my employers
actually expect some work out of me, so I pulled in a couple of elements
into the drawing on my monitor, worked up some parameters for them, and
re-ran the power flow scenarios.  I tweaked and retried.  And it was time
to go.

   I followed the herd out the door patiently waited out the exodus from
the parking garage and the aggravations of the commute.  At home, I shucked
the day's work clothes and hit the shower.  As I was lathering up, my
fingers ran over the scars.  Okay, Jo knew about the ones on my face and
head.  She hadn't seen the ones on my arm and my chest and my leg.  I
questioned myself as to how much 'ugly' I could reasonably expect somebody
as physically perfect as Jo to accept.

   I rinsed shampoo out of my short hair as I inventoried, reminding myself
that she didn't seem to be bothered by the jagged pink line from my cheek
to my hairline.  Maybe she really didn't mind.

   I shaved, brushed my teeth, splashed a tiny little bit of cologne on,
and dressed, slacks, long sleeved shirt, tie.  And it was time to go.  Time
for one more phone call.

   "Hey, Jo," I said.

   There was a little giggle in her voice.  "Hi, Stoney.  Are you still..."

   "You betcha, unless you're backing out."

   "You're the one who's meeting Mom and Dad for the first time, guy.  Only
reason I'm nervous is because of you.  I worry."

   "I'll be there in half an hour.  We can talk on the way to dinner."

   "Okay, baby, but if you're thinking about dumping me, don't do it
tonight, okay?" she said softly.

   "Why would you even think of such a thing, Johanna?"

   "I dunno.  There's a change in your voice.  Like something's different,"
she said.

   "Nope, not really.  Looking forward to seeing you."

   "Good, Stoney.  I look forward to seeing you, too.  In a minute, okay?"

   "I'm out the door right now," I said.

   The conversation with Brad replayed in my mind.  Maybe I was just
oblivious.  All I knew was that Jo just popped up in my life and it was
like the sun came out after a long, stormy time.  I liked it.  It felt
good. I wanted to keep feeling good.  It seemed to me that Jo's smile
played a part in that.

   I found a parking spot open about half a block from the front entrance
of the apartment shared by Jo and Key, locked the car and walked to her
door.

   Okay, I was used to seeing Jo in her 'knocking around' clothes, that
being jeans and a blouse or a man's shirt or such.  And I had been treated
to the vision of Jo in a dress for her concert solo.  That was stunning. 
But the Jo that answered the door, that was different.

   "If I'd've known you were going to look like this, I'd've dressed
better," I said.  "Jo, you're stunning."

   "Good!  Shut up and kiss me, Stoney!" she blurted.  Her arms looped
around my neck, pulling my face down to hers.  I didn't fight it.  I went
with it.  I gathered her in my own arms, relishing the press of her body
against mine.

   It was unbelievably good.  I can't remember a better kiss, even in the
days of my hormone-enraged youth.  I didn't want to stop, and apparently
neither did she, not for a while.  Finally, reluctantly, we parted.

   "Stoney, I needed that.  That's my drug.  My tranquilizer.  My mood
altering substance."

   "Me?"

   "You."

   I looked into the room.  There was Key, standing there, arms folded,
smirking.

   "White boy, how I'm s'posedta show you to Daddy you be kissin' that pale
child like that?"

   Jo turned to her.  "He's mine, Key, but if I die, you inherit 'im." She
turned back to me.  "Come on, boyfriend, before we incense Miss Key there."

   "Bye, Key," I said.

   "Bye, white kids," she laughed.

   Jo and I walked out to the sidewalk and I found my hand collected in
hers.

   "You don't kiss me like something's wrong, Stoney," she said.  "But when
we were on the phone, I heard something in your voice.  What's up, fella?"

   I recounted the conversation with Brad.  "Why should I keep a secret
from you, little one?" I asked.

   "You shouldn't.  I won't keep secrets from you.  So what do you think?"

   I paused, took a breath.  "I hit the lottery.  Don't know how big the
prize is yet.  Last couple of weeks it's been wonderful.  You're a good
friend.  The fact that you're so beautiful and so kissable is just frosting
on the cake."

   "I'm not beautiful," she said.

   "Oh, bull," I retorted.  "Gimme a break.  You're startlingly, unusually,
exotically beautiful."

   We were in front of my car.  She spun me to face her and put her index
finger in the middle of my forehead.  "You would be wise, sir, to realize
that appreciation of beauty begins in here." She tapped her fingertip
against my forehead.  "And just maybe, sir, you might infer that the same
sort of arrangement exists in MY head in regard to YOU." She paused, her
eyes narrow.  "Now, I would, at this moment, desire another kiss, but the
street is hardly the..."

   I shut her up with a kiss.

   We got in the car.  "So your buddy, what was his name, Brad?, he comes
in and makes you run an inventory."

   "Yeah, it's like that."

   "You hadn't done that before?"

   "Nope.  I was happy like a little fat kid in a candy store.  I didn't
want to question why.  I was afraid that the act of questioning would
destroy it, like examining a snowflake."

   "You've got a poet's heart, Stonewall Jackson," she said.  Her fingers
traced the scar on my forehead.  "My own warrior-poet.  A man out of his
time, for a woman out of hers ...  Let's go meet Mom and Dad."

   "Okay," I said, again trying to parse out her words.  What was she
saying?  I could almost get something.  But was it just being playful,
because her grin was almost kittenish.

   "Oh, Stoney, I've confused you," she said.  "I don't want you confused.
I want you to know..." She paused as I pulled off the side street onto a
main artery.

   "What do you want me to know, Jo?"

   "That I don't make a habit of this, warrior-poet.  You, sir, are the
first."

   "A habit of what?" I asked.

   "Loping 'round the countryside with banjo players.  Taking off on random
sailboats.  Watching you beat up trumpet players.  Getting all
goo-goo-eyed."

   "You're goo-goo-eyed..."

   "Hopelessly so, Stoney.  Please tell me it's not a one-way street."

   "It's not.  Awfully early to figure out what it is, Johanna Elise," I
said.

   "Myself," she said.  "I feel like I got hold of one of those grab bags,
but it's got the logo of a really upscale store on it.  I've stuck my hand
inside and pulled out some very interesting and pleasant things, but I
don't know what all might be in there..." her hand punctuated her words,
resting softly on my forearm.

   "You aren't bad in the poet business yourself," I said.  "Jo, two weeks
is a bit short.  How much of you is a mystery?  How much of Miss Johanna is
yet to be revealed?"

   Giggle.  "If that's some reference to getting my clothes off..."

   "Not even," I said.  "Not talking about sex.  Talking about what goes on
inside that punkin head and inside that heart.  What's the real Johanna
Elise?"

   "A shy, vulnerable girl who hides behind a musical instrument because
everybody knows that music people are strange and people who do classical
music are strange in a whole different direction.  A girl who needed
something to shelter herself until the storm was over." She looked at me.
"Or until, just maybe, she found the guy with the umbrella."

   "How do you get that from a guy hooking up a microphone?" I asked.

   "Randall Jackson, for an engineer, you're awfully dense sometimes.  I am
a musician.  I sense melodies and harmonies in the universe in the course
of my daily life.  On Day One, sir, you were arpeggios.  And when you
walked down the street with me in Austin, I could sense the psychic
reverberations between us."

   "You're delightfully full of it, Jo," I said.

   "Okay, then let's try 'I like the way you carry yourself and interact
with others, and you float my boat.'" Giggle.  "That's the obligatory
maritime reference." Giggle.  "I get to decide whether a horrible scar, and
believe me, it isn't, is too much negative for the positive of a pair of
blue eyes and a smile and a vocabulary of words with more than two
syllables."

   "Uh..."

   "So yes," she said, "You've been measured, and some of the scales are
beyond the ken of an engineering mind.  Let your music sense analyze this,
Stoney.  Sometimes the perfect sound comes from the simple impact of a
hammer on an iron triangle."

   She scooted out from under her seatbelt, leaned across the console, and
kissed my cheek.  "Stoney?"

   "Yes, Jo?"

   "Ding!" She smiled.  "Now let's go expose you to Mom and Dad."



   ------

   Chapter 8

   We walked toward the door of the restaurant.  Now I was thinking that
here I am, meeting her family for the first time, and public displays of
affection might not be on the agenda.  After we worked our way past the
maĂ(R)tre d' (yeah, I don't usually eat at restaurants with a 'maitre d''
even though I know they exist) and into the dining room, Jo's hand hooked
the inside of my arm.  Apparently she knows more about me than I give her
credit for.

   "There they are," she said, smile broadening.  We navigated through the
maze to a table near the perimeter of the dining room.

   Mister, or was it Colonel Solheim looked the part.  Maybe an inch or two
taller than me, his hair cropped in a fashion that would still be at home
in a meeting of the general staff, peppered with grey.  When he stood, his
back straightened.  West Point shows through.

   That old saw about 'if you want to see what your girlfriend will look
like in twenty years, look at her mom', well, if that saying held true,
then whoever ended up with Johanna Solheim was in for a pleasant view. 
Bridgette O'Neal Solheim was like a fable of the Irish wife leaning over a
stone fence, red hair wreathing her pale face, blue eyes twinkling.  I
looked at her and saw Jo.  Except Jo's eyes were a deeper blue and Jo's
hair was almost naturally straight, where her mom's was a softy curled
frame for her face.

   And the first words I hear from them is the mom saying "Stoney, Stoney,
Stoney," and smiling, grasping both my hands.

   "Ma'am?" I said.

   "Oh, fear not, Mister Randall Jackson.  I've been hearing about you for
two weeks." She smiled.

   I was pleasantly aware that the father was smiling too.  I extended my
hand.  "Sir," I said, "Randall Jackson."

   He smiled.  "I am Anders Solheim, father to Johanna." He pronounced it
with a soft "j", almost the "y" one would expect from Norway.  "Yes.  I
have to mirror my wife's knowledge of you.  'Stonewall Jackson' must have
been fun in the army," he said.

   "Heck of a reputation to match," I replied.

   "Please, let us sit.  Beer?  Or wine?  Or a cocktail?"

   "I defer to your choice sir," I said.  "I remain flexible."

   If you keep calling me 'sir' in that tone, I fear I will revert to
calling you 'lieutenant'.  Is that the way we wish this evening to
proceed?"

   "No sir," I said.  "But you are the father of Jo.  Calling you 'Anders'
doesn't work in my mind."

   "Dad is messing with you a little, Stoney," Jo said.  "I didn't give him
many boys to practice on."

   "Anders, really!" Bridgette said.

   Anders, Mister Solheim, broke into a broad smile.  "Jo is right.  She
does not bring home a lot of boys.  My friends have horror stories.  I
don't.  Well, perhaps one or two.  And I would prefer a good beer.  Texas
does well in this regard.  Do you drink Shiner?"

   "An excellent choice," I said.  "If I'm going to drink, Shiner Bock is
wonderful.  I know you're used to the beer of Germany."

   "And Norway," Bridgette added.  "Equally as good.  And yes, Shiner is
that good."

   "I would like white wine," Bridgette said.  "You, Jo?"

   "Yes, Mom.  Let the men have their beer."

   The restaurant was not one of those 'in and out in a flash'
establishments.  Clients were expected to dine at a leisurely pace, and we
complied.  But the time we'd finished the soup, I had learned that my
girlfriend's father was on the general staff of the division with which I'd
served in the sandbox.

   "I know more about you than you do about me, Stoney," he said.  "I
received the reports of your last battle.  And the recommendations for your
medal."

   That last statement got me a look from Jo.  Her father was walking into
territory that Jo and I had not discussed.

   "You never told me you got a medal." Jo's eyes widened a little bit.

   "Everybody gets medals in the army, Jo," I said.

   "I hope I'm not stepping on toes here," Anders said, "but everybody in
the army gets awards.  Stoney was recommended for the Distinguished Service
Cross.  That's only one step below the Medal of Honor."

   "Stoney?  You never told me."

   "Jo, most people don't care what medals or awards a guy gets from
something that happened years ago and far away."

   "Oh, really, Mister Randall Jackson.  I'm not some college bimbo.  I am
the daughter of an Army colonel.  I admire my father and what he did. 
Don't you think I'd offer you the same consideration?"

   Bridgette put her hand on Jo's arm.  "Jo, most men do not talk about
it."

   "Excuse me, Mom, but you know every award and medal Dad's got..."

   "I'm his wife, dearest," Bridgette said.

   "I'm ...  I'm..." Jo stuttered, "Stoney..."

   "I'll tell you the whole thing, Jo, if you want.  But it's not a subject
for dinner conversation.  Really."

   "I'm sorry if I touched a nerve, Stoney," Anders said.  "I thought for
sure she knew a little of your history."

   "I thought you said you were an engineer in the army, Stoney," Jo said.

   "Combat engineers.  It's a service branch.  Not quite the same as
engineering, Jo."

   She regained her poise.  The hint of her smile reached the corners of
her mouth.  "See, Mom?  He is different."

   The entrees arrived and conversation turned to lighter fare, but I still
kept getting glances from Jo.  And a squeeze of fingertips under the table.
That squeeze was a relief.  One never knows what may happen when your
partner finds out things, even if the things aren't about cheating and
previous loves and such things.

   We talked about my work and Anders' work, how he parlayed a colonelcy
into a position as an authority on security for overseas operations.  This
was Houston and a lot of companies had overseas operations, many of them in
places where security might be a critical concern.

   "You work with some of my clients, Stoney," he said.

   "I design things."

   "And I make sure people can hang around to build them," he said.

   "Circle of life," I said.

   Jo laughed.  We spent a goodly part of the dinner talking about time
spent in Germany, a not uncommon thing for American soldiers, and we talked
about music.

   "I found somebody to play along with me, Mom," Jo said.  "We can
actually do some Irish folk tunes."

   "Oh, surely not," Bridgette said.  "How does one get to hear that?"

   "You find time in your schedule to come to my humble apartment..."

   "A place I have never been, incidentally," Jo interrupted.

   "As I was saying, we will have snacks and Jo and I will play all three
of the songs we've played together."

   "Where did you two learn you could play together?" Anders asked.

   "On his boat, of course.  What better place for flute and banjo than a
sailboat."

   "Ah, yes, Jo mentioned you have a boat.  What sort?" Anders asked.

   "An old Nonsuch 36.  Cat-rigged sailboat."

   "I know the type," he said.  "It has been a long time.  I once had a
passion for sail.  It fell behind passion for family and work."

   "You've been on this boat?"

   "Oh, yes," Jo said excitedly.  "It's a wonderful thing.  We anchored out
in the bay, made sandwiches, played music, talked..." She eyed me.

   I took the hint.  "You know you are invited as well.  We can make a
time, a day trip, or an overnight, sail a bit, anchor, have a good meal,
enjoy the wind and sun..."

   "Did Jo explain what sun does to her complexion?" Bridgette said.

   "Yes ma'am, she did.  And she's got a ridiculously big floppy hat.  I
would think that you have one also." I smiled as disarmingly as I could. 
"Besides, Jo says that sun accentuates her freckles.  I find them a
particularly attractive bit of facial punctuation."

   "I always thought of them as horrible blotchy things," Bridgette said.

   I looked at Anders for a sign.  He smiled almost imperceptibly.  "Your
husband likely feels as I do, and you probably ignore him as Jo does me."

   "That's awfully perceptive of you, Stoney," Anders said.  And yes, I
explained to my young bride that I found her face a delight, freckles and
all." He turned to Bridgette.  "And dear, after twenty-odd years, you are
still astoundingly beautiful.  Freckles and all."

   "See!" I told Jo.  "He believes."

   "Yes.  Meeting Bridgette, young and very capable clerk at the Irish
embassy, I became a connoisseur of freckled redheads.  It turns out to be a
very pleasant way to have spent my life."

   I did catch Jo's satisfied smile at that comment.  "There are worse
things in the world than spending life with somebody you find beautiful."

   "And smart, Dad," Jo added.  "Mom is your mental equal."

   "And I'm smart enough not to act it," Bridgette said.

   Jo finally made the obvious observation.  "Mom.  Dad.  I thought you'd
be more interested in finding out about this guy your only daughter dragged
to dinner."

   Her mother fielded the first iteration.  "Dearest daughter," she said,
the lilt of her accent a delight to my hearing, "We did not expect you to
bring somebody who we would find unacceptable to us.  You're not stupid and
you're not rebellious, and you're not gullible."

   And then her dad filled in, "And I called Stoney's former commander and
got his assessment, naturally.  And his employer is one of our clients.  A
little judicious questioning and somebody drilled down in the organization
to find me a few answers." He turned to me.  "Stoney, I hope you don't find
this offensive..."

   "If it was my daughter, I would do as much," I said.  "I trust that all
they complained about was my propensity for coffee and practical jokes."

   "Sooooo," Jo said, "he passed?"

   "I didn't know we were supposed to keep score, my dear," Bridgette said.
"This is not a sporting event.  For two weeks you've told us about this
man, and you did so in happy tones.  You did not have to tell us anything,
nor did you have to bring him with you tonight.  We are happy with your
choices." Bridgette wrinkled her nose when she smiled, something she passed
on to Jo.  "That includes Stoney."

   "Well, thank you," I said.  "You two have made me re-evaluate that whole
'colonel and colonel's wife' stereotype."

   "Just remember, Stoney, every colonel was a lieutenant once himself."
Anders said.

   We got through dessert and were sipping coffee and still talking
happily. Jo's folks were intelligent and easy to talk with.  We ranged over
a list of subjects, Jo jumping in on one side or the other.  Jo's no dummy.
I wouldn't've been sitting at this table if she was.

   At the end of the evening, though, after her dad's handshake and her
mother's hug, Jo and I walked away from them in the parking lot towards my
car.  Her face was still smiling under the glare of the lights.  I unlocked
the car and held the door for her to get in.  When I got in on my side, she
reached and touched my arm.

   "You passed," she said.

   "I wasn't even supposed to be tested," I countered.

   "Oh, poor, poor Stoney," she sighed.  "Don't take me for an idiot. 
Everything is life is a test, even the fun things.  You knew this was a
test."

   "I guess so."

   "You just don't know if it's a mid-week quiz, or a final.  Or something
in between."

   "I gotta start dating dumb girls," I said.

   "You know you won't," she said.  "You won't put up with a girl who's all
designer nails and trendy makeup and 'People Magazine'.  You need me or
somebody like me." Giggle.  "Maybe Key."

   "Have you met Key's parents?"

   "Oh, yes," she said.  "They came to see what sort of den of debauchery
their daughter was inhabiting.  They were relieved to find the other room
occupied by a red-headed Norwegian Irish flute-player instead of a six foot
six linebacker named Jamal.  We all had dinner, and honestly, aside from a
bit of pigment and Key's mom and dad having Southern accents instead of
Irish and Scandinavian, they could've been MY parents."

   "Good.  Somewhat rarer than it should be, but good," I said.

   "Not just black kids, you know," she said.  "You don't want to ask how
many of my contemporaries have parents still married to each other.  I
guess I should thank my Lutheran-Catholic background for that."

   "It's a good thing.  I enjoyed watching them while we all talked. 
They're still giving each other looks.  You know what I mean."

   She looked at me.  "You mean like this?"

   "Is it the same?"

   "Could be."

   "Now, where can we go to talk?"

   "What are going to talk about?" I asked.

   "You know what I want to talk about.  What my father knows about my
boyfriend that I don't know." She sighed.  "Stoney, Dad is ...  was a
commander of men.  A lot of them, because when he was in the sandbox the
first time, he was a lieutenant colonel commanding an infantry battalion. I
know what his shoulders looked like when he sat there after he came back
and answered letters from moms and dads and wives who lost family.  Dad
lost soldiers, but he knew that his soldiers were somebody else's family. I
got more than one unexplained long hug before I was old enough to figure
out why."

   She continued, "I don't delude myself, Stoney.  I know war is not the
same as movies.  I don't know how you feel or what you feel or what you saw
or what you did, but somebody did see some of it.  You got a medal.  I
asked Dad when you went to the restroom.  A Silver Star.  Not given out for
sitting behind a desk filing paperwork.  And a Purple Heart.  I guess that
one myself.  The evidence is there, but I guess it could've been a car
wreck." Another sigh.  "Stoney, just tell me." Sigh.  "If you want.  I'm
your friend first..."

   I'm sitting here listening and driving and I catch that 'first' comment.

   "Jo, thank you.  I don't know..."

   Her lips formed a straight line.  The impact of that look was
accentuated by the rarity of Jo's face without the smile.  "Randall
Jackson! I am your friend.  Confidant.  Girlfriend.  Now you've met Mom and
Dad.  You need to trust me and let me understand more of you.  But if not
now..."

   I sucked in a breath.  "Okay, Jo.  Your apartment?"

   "Not private tonight.  Key's study group is there.  What's wrong with
yours?"

   "Never thought of trying to get you to my apartment, Jo."

   "You're not trying to 'get me' to your apartment.  I am going there with
you while I am completely sober and in possession of my faculties.  I've
seen the inside of frat houses and bachelor pads, if you're worried about
housekeeping."

   "I am a meticulous housekeeper."

   "You're not hiding a concubine and several toddlers?" The smile was
creeping back in.  She knew she'd won.

   "No."

   "Jealous gay lover?" She tried to look serious.  The giggle escaped in
spite of her best efforts.

   I can't help but smile around her.  "Okay, Johanna Elise Solheim.  You
win." I altered my navigation to head to my own apartment.

   "Stoney, we're friends ...  I see things sometimes.  I pay attention,
you know.  I can see that cloud sometimes.  I won't call it a 'little
cloud'.  But then you shove it back and you're here again and I'm trying to
understand."

   "I'm trying to understand my own self," I said.  "John Wayne never..."

   "This is real life, Stoney.  I asked Dad about post-traumatic stress
when it started hitting the papers.  I even used it on HIM when I was in
high school and he came down on me about something.  He was just being a
parent and I was being a bratty high school kid trying to use any tool to
get my way.  Mom tore me up over it, too.  But I know a few things. 
You..."

   "I don't understand why I can't get over some things." I was telling her
this as I pulled into my parking slot.

   "Come on," she said.  "Let's go make us a couple of cups of tea or
something and talk..."

   We walked to the door.  I opened it and let her in, locking it behind
us. She looked around.

   "No bad at all," she commented.  "Did that painting come with the
place?"

   "No," I said.  "Bought it myself.  Place needed color."

   "'Pinkie', isn't it?  Thomas Lawrence.  Late eighteenth century, if my
art class did me any good."

   "Indeed it is."

   "Why 'Pinkie'?"

   "Technical perfection.  Appeals to the engineer side of me.  Beauty. 
Her expression always leaves me thinking that she's trying to be serious
but she's holding in a smile." I stopped, took a breath, then dove in. 
"Now I have to change the 'perfection' part."

   "Oh?"

   "She should have red hair."

   "Stoppit!" she said with a grin.  She switched to a parody Southern
accent.  "I do believe, lieutenant, that you are trying to turn a girl's
head." Giggle.  "Let's see the kitchen.  Where do you keep the tea?"

   "Right behind the half-gallon of cheap vodka," I said.

   She stuck her tongue at me.  "I found tea on your boat.  Didn't see any
vodka."

   I stepped into the little kitchen with her and got out the makings of
tea.

   "Bags!  Mom will straighten you out, sir.  Irishwomen take their tea
seriously and it does NOT come in bags."

   "I shall make corrections when the time comes."

   "You'd better.  You invited my parents over here to hear us play music."

   "A mission for a Saturday morning, then, dear.  I am sure that you know
where I might find the proper kit for a cup of tea that will leave your
mother thinking I'm indeed civilized."

   "Accepted.  Does that mean this Saturday?"

   "Early enough for breakfast?"

   She smiled.  "Yes."

   The electric kettle clicked, signaling boiling water, and I preheated
two mugs, then brewed tea.  While it was steeping, I showed her the
apartment.

   "Two bedrooms?"

   "One for me, one for my junk," I said, pushing the door open to the
'junk' room.  Desk, computer monitor.  A couple of shelves for various
sporting items.

   "Closet," I said.

   She peered inside.  "You don't feel nervous about those guns in there?"

   "Nope." Apartment is locked.  It's a secure complex.  I keep one in the
nightstand beside the bed, too.  Guns scare you?"

   "Puh-leeze!  No!"

   "Okay," I said.  "Next room.  And just for the record, I am NOT planning
on pushing you backward onto the bed, but here's the other bedroom."

   Fortunately my dear mother had instilled in me the virtues of a made
bed, so every morning I rearranged the covers and sited the pillows
correctly.  And I was pushed face-first onto my own bed, turned over and
found my lips assaulted by a delightfully beautiful redhead.

   "So absolutely silly, Stoney!  I know you're honorable." From a distance
of six inches her eyes were blue kaleidoscopes.  "And a girl does
occasionally need kissing."

   Another kiss.  I could forget the tea.  She didn't forget the tea.  She
bounded up.  "Tea's going to get bitter if it over-steeps." The look on her
face was precious as the looked back over her shoulder, headed to the
kitchen.  I followed.  If I was a puppy, my tail would be wagging.

   Two mugs.  A little sugar.  A little half and half.  And we sat on the
sofa.  I sipped mine, savoring the vapors and the tastes.

   "Okay, guy.  Talk.  Or not."

   "I was a young lieutenant when we deployed.  I thought the war would be
like in 1991, you know, over in a few days, then home.  I was wrong about
that.  You know, most of the things I've been wrong about have been in the
Army."

   "Dad says that.  He says it's a curious combination of human frailty and
government bureaucracy, with the opportunity for violence and death."

   "That's good.  Really good.  I'll have to remember it," I said. 
"Anyway, we ended up in a forward operating base, a FOB, in an area that we
thought was on its way to being secure and safe.  I had the battalion's
combat engineer platoon.  We were responsible for clearing mines, so every
day we'd make a run up the main road to see if the locals had left us any
presents."

   She was listening.  Her smile was gone.  She still had the soft, sweet
face, but she knew that what I was doing was something difficult for me.

   I told her about my platoon, some of the names, some of the
personalities, and the speaking of these things brought memories from
corners long left alone.  Say a name, see a face.

   I told her how we spread the wealth around, alternating the manning for
the daily road sweep.  I told her how I and my platoon sergeant sometimes
alternated, sometimes went on the missions together.  I told her about dead
donkey traps and keeping track of potholes because one that wasn't there
yesterday was likely to explode in a volcano of fire and jagged metal.

   I told her about the people who inhabited the two villages on our road
and how my guys brought treats for the kids, how folks back home loaded up
goodie boxes for the soldiers, then when they heard about the kids, how the
goodie boxes got bigger and fluffier, and how the battalion medics held
clinic days for the local population and how the troops of a tank battalion
stood around with M-16's providing security from one segment of the
population that begrudged another segment of the population receiving any
benefit from the Americans.

   And finally I came to The Day.  I recounted the story.  In detail.

   She listened.  "Stoney, I haven't been exactly honest with you."

   "No?"

   "Look!  When I told Dad you were a veteran, he asked for your name.  He
did a little looking, like he said.  He sent me this." She pulled a folded
sheaf of papers from her purse and opened them.  I immediately recognized
the formats of military reports.

   "Dad could get in trouble for getting these.  I read them.  And I'm
listening to you.  These two are eyewitness accounts of your actions  -"
everybody's actions, that day.  You said you got hit and lost
consciousness. This report said you kept shooting after you fell, and that
you fought off several more attackers and crawled the length of the column
with one broken leg and one arm, to help the others."

   "I don't remember any of that, Jo.  I got debriefed.  And I saw the
citation for the medal, and that's all I knew."

   "Why's it weigh on you?  That you killed people?"

   "Not the people you're thinking about, Jo.  The people I was entrusted
to take care of.  I let us develop a predictable pattern.  I let us get
sucked into a trap with a decoy.  And some of MY men died because of my
stupidity."

   Jo sensed the impact of me verbalizing that feeling.  "Stoney, this
report said you fell down after the rocket hit your position.  It says you
fired your weapon at a man with a long knife and stopped him from attacking
you and the two men with you."

   "And that's where I blacked out."

   Reading from the narrative, she continued, "Dismissing his own wounds,
Lieutenant Jackson then proceeded to crawl to each of the fighting
positions, checking on the men.  He ended up along side his platoon
sergeant and one of the other survivors of the contact, where he lost
consciousness a final time.  Lieutenant Jackson's selfless actions in
supporting his detachment under heavy and determined attack prevented a
massacre of American soldiers.  His actions are in keeping with the highest
traditions of the service." She set the papers down in her lap and looked
at me.  Those clear blue eyes were at once loving and nurturing and caring.

   "Stoney, if you made mistakes, everybody makes mistakes.  This says you
didn't make mistakes, and if you did, you redeemed yourself."

   "But..."

   "You weren't playing a game.  Dad says that the enemy was quite often
very flexible and skilled and crafty.  And you are very brave.  Even when
you were unconscious, you didn't stop." Her fingers traced the scar from my
hairline down to my cheek.  "This wasn't the only wound?  You had a broken
leg.  Arm."

   "My whole left side was torn up, Jo.  This is the scar you can see."

   "You always wear long-sleeved shirts when you're in public."

   "Just a minute," I said.  "I'll be right back." I got up, went in the
bedroom and came out wearing gym shorts, bare-chested.

   "This is why," I said.  From mid-forearm to my shoulder was a mad pink
track, looking somewhat like a two-dimensional look at the upper reaches of
the Grand Canyon.  My left chest was a big scar at about the sixth rib and
a constellation of pockmarks surrounding it.  And from knee to my hip joint
was another Grand Canyon map with more pockmarks.

   Jo's eyes widened as she took in the view.

   "Ugly," I said.  "Hardware in this arm.  And in my femur.  I can't go
through metal detectors without dinging.  And that's why I don't spend much
time at the pool or the beach."

   "Why?  This?"

   "I don't want to frighten little children.  Or answer a lot of
questions."

   "People can be silly, Stoney.  I'm not."

   "You see it all now, Jo.  And..."

   She stood and poked her finger into the center of my forehead.  "This is
where the true appreciation of beauty begins.  Just like music.  It's what
happens in your head when you close your eyes." She looked into my eyes. 
"Or in your heart." And she kissed me.

   "I've felt these through your shirt, Stoney.  I kind of figured what the
deal was.  I didn't know about the leg.  And dummy, sunshine would probably
do it some good.  A lot of things improve when they're brought into the
light."



   ------

   Chapter 9

   "You were in the hospital for a while, I imagine," Jo said.

   "The whole spectrum.  Infection.  Orthopedics.  Recovery. 
Rehabilitation.  I do okay now, but every now and then one thing or another
talks to me."

   "Like that walk we took in Austin," she said.  "Now I understand why. 
You should've said something."

   "And miss a chance to walk down the street with you?  I'm not stupid."

   "Sit!" she commanded, patting the sofa beside her.

   "Lemme go put my other clothes back on," I said.

   "If you think it's necessary.  I'm not uncomfortable with you like you
are." She smiled.  "You're my friend.  You're male, but you're the male I
trust."

   "At least you didn't run screaming from the room," I sighed.  "For any
of several possible reasons."

   "What?" she asked petulantly.  "That you have scars?  Stoney, you earned
them in combat.  I'm just Norse enough to think you've earned your way into
Valhalla, but don't you even THINK of one of those big-breasted blondes
waiting on you.  Or maybe it's because you consider yourself to be immodest
in your dress.  Gee, buddy, like I've never been poolside in the summer. 
I've seen male bodies, Stoney.  I'm a college girl and I have gone places
where such things are not unusual."

   "I didn't want you to think..."

   "Stoney, just sit down.  Sometimes you think too much." Giggle.  "I own
a bikini that shows as much of me as those shorts show of you.  It's not
like you came in here naked and pinned me to the sofa."

   "Now that's a thought," I said.  "I'm being all nice..."

   She tugged my hand so I sat down with her.  Her index finger touched the
tip of my nose.  "You are all nice, Stoney.  That's why I'm here."

   "What makes you think I'm that nice, Jo?  You're awfully delectable.  If
I wasn't nice..."

   "Your eyes, Stoney.  The first time I saw you, you were helping set up
that recording system.  You were on your knees, moving, squatting, putting
things in place in the orchestra practice hall.  You were on your knees in
front of everybody, including girls, and some of the other girls are pretty
hot.  And you just acted like you were stacking groceries.  You smiled. 
You chatted.  But you didn't gawk and you didn't drool and you didn't hit
on any of them.  I determined that if you were some kind of uncontrollable
lech, then that would have been the place to see it."

   "Maybe I'm just very good at it."

   Her lips stopped me from further conversation.  When the kiss was over,
she said, "You're a decent human being.  I find it delightful that you're a
guy.  That way I can kiss you without offending my Lutheran-Catholic
roots."

   I pulled her toward me and returned the kiss, ending it with a sigh. 
"And you're an angel and a bunny and a songbird and a bunch of other
things, every one of them appealing to me," I said.

   "Good!  Now we need to see where all this goes, huh?  I mean, a banjo
and a classical flute, that's a spread."

   "An engineer and a princess."

   "A warrior and a musician."

   She smiled.  "Stoney and Jo.  Two human beings who seem to do well
together.  Where's it heading, Stoney?"

   "Gosh, that's out of the clear blue."

   Clear blue, indeed.  Clear blue eyes clicked to mine.  "Okay, then. 
Tell me you haven't given it a thought."

   "No, I can't tell you that.  I can tell you that I find you a beautiful
and happy part ...  No, make that THE beautiful and happy part of my life
right now.  Jo, honestly, you're more than I deserve to even dream about."

   "Stoney, I'm just a little army brat.  I can't even claim a home state
like you can.  What am I supposed to be looking for?"

   "I don't know.  I'm just an engineer.  You need somebody much more
metaphysical to answer that question."

   She smiled.  She knew I was dodging.  "Engineers have feelings, too,
Stoney."

   "Yes, they do, Jo." I returned her gaze.  "I admit to feelings about
you. You're quite the thing.  No mere ball of fluff.  A brain and looks and
personality."

   "Thank you for that methodical assessment, sir," she said.  "These
feelings of which you speak.  What are they?"

   "Words that might not be yet appropriate," I said.  "Maybe.  Depends a
lot on..."

   "Me," she said.  "Depends on what I think about things, too.  It's
October.  I've known you since August.  I've been your girlfriend for four
weeks now.  The last week, every time I went out, I had you with me."

   "So what we both seem to be saying is..." I need to be careful here. 
I've never had somebody that got inside my head and finished my sentences
for me before.

   " ...  we seem to be compatible on several levels, right?" She
punctuated that phrase with a kiss, pressing herself against my bare chest.

   "Yes, we seem to be.  I've arrived at a similar conclusion."

   "And you say nothing to me about it?  Why not, Stoney?"

   "Several reasons, my delightfully red-headed musician.  First, I didn't
want to think about you finding what I've showed you tonight."

   "Scars?  Physical things?" She sounded almost unbelieving.

   "Look, Jo, I haven't had the feeling that you were like that.  I mean,
you got past my face.  But still, sometimes I worry that the whole package
is too much.  Second, I still have issues about the war.  That's a lot to
hang on a friend.  Even more if it's more than a friend.  Like you.  And
third, since the day you said I was your boyfriend, I have felt like I'm in
the presence of a precious, delicate orchid and if I touch or sniff or move
too much, it will wither."

   "All that is very sweet of you, Stoney, but genetically speaking I'm
from much hardier stock than that.  Norsemen on one side and Irish, their
perpetual victims, on the other."

   "Yeah, uh-huh ...  Your Mom doesn't look a bit victimized to me."

   Giggle.  "That's beside the point.  I know what 'stand by your man'
means, and it's not just the title of a country and western song.  I'm not
fragile." Her smirk was a combination of exasperation and good humor. 
"You're just stereotyping me because I play the flute."

   "You're nuts, you know, Johanna?"

   "And you are too, and you're getting nuttier by the day."

   "So, where's this at right now?"

   "I consider you my boyfriend about whom I am very serious.  If this was
high school, we would be going steady."

   I laughed.

   "It's not funny, Stoney.  I'm having a very serious conversation here. I
should be writing your name in flowery script on all my notebooks."

   "You'd be wearing my senior ring on a chain around your neck."

   She giggled.  "And you don't get to date other girls."

   "Wasn't dating other girls when I met you, now, was I?"

   "I don't know that," she said.

   "I wasn't."

   "Then don't start," she said.  "This is all very serious.  I never went
steady with a boy in high school OR college."

   "That's outside the norm," I said.

   "Oh, believe me, I know.  I've had it explained to me by numerous peers,
male and female.  You have your story, I have mine, you know..."

   "You told me a little," I said.

   "I know.  That sort of messed me up, Stoney.  Mom says it caused trust
issues.  I argue with her now.  I say it just showed me that some of my
contemporaries have very loose ideas of proper personal interaction.  And
when I did finally try to get past only dating in groups, I ended up with
our common friend, the asshole trumpet player."

   "Oh, yes..."

   "Well, let me tell you what did him in for me."

   "I'm listening," I said.

   "It got back to me that he was bragging to his friends that he'd be, and
I quote, 'fucking the flute player' before the date was over.  That sort of
information puts a girl on alert, you know." She looked at me.  "And in
case you completely misread my character, Mister Stonewall Jackson, he most
certainly did NOT.  I do, however, think that he saw me as worth a second
try, which leads us to the day he and you had your energetic conversation.
I did not, even prior to meeting you, see him as somebody I would ever see
again."

   "So you're telling me..."

   "That I am willing to go out in groups, not particularly attached to one
guy."

   "I don't think it means you're attached to me, Jo.  I think we fit well
together.  Your presence brightens my day.  Makes me feel complete."

   She smiled.  "Good!  Good answer!  Then it's settled!"

   "What's settled?"

   Giggle.  "You and me.  We're going steady.  I feel better already."

   "This evening has been a roller coaster, Jo.  You're the best part of
it."

   "What about Mom and Dad?"

   "Right below you on the 'good things for today' list."

   "I would add our little talk."

   "Which one?"

   "The one where you had to tell me what my dad knew."

   She watched my face.  Saw something that I only felt.  "Stoney, I'm
here. I don't know what it takes, but if having a friend at your beck and
call, then you have that covered.  I'm serious." She sighed.  "How's it
come to you?  I see your face change, like a summer day when a cloud passes
over and everything darkens for a while, then it moves on and it's all
bright and shiny again."

   "That's some of it."

   "I've seen it.  I watch you, you know.  I've seen it several times."

   "You're here.  Or people are around."

   "What's the trigger?"

   "I wish I could nail it down.  Sometimes it's a word or a phrase. 
Sometimes it's a sound.  Sometimes it's a face in the crowd." My turn to
sigh.  "But the worst ones are the dreams."

   "Tell me about it.  If you want to.  Not if it hurts."

   She looked genuinely concerned.  How could I not talk to her?  "Nobody
around.  I get to deal with the ghosts alone."

   "Oh, Stoney," she said.  "I'm sorry.  How often?"

   "Often enough to be scary sometimes.  The VA has had me meet with a
counselor.  And I have some pills that sometimes help me sleep through. 
But I wake up in the morning all groggy, foggy.  I don't like the pills. 
So usually, I just get up and find something to do until morning."

   "Stoney, you're blaming yourself for something outside your control. 
Dad says..."

   "I know what your dad says, Jo.  And the counselors.  But I..."

   "You blame yourself for something that other men, as professional and a
lot more fanatic than you are, did, those men DIED to make happen.  You
survived and while you did, you kept more of your own men alive than if you
hadn't.  Your commander knows it.  The survivors know it."

   "Men died.  My men."

   "Men lived.  Your men.  You lived.  And from what the report says,
Lieutenant Randall Jackson, your brain quit working but your body didn't.
'Crawled to the other positions.' After YOU thought you were blacked out."

   "I honestly don't remember after the guy with the knife."

   "See," she said softly.  "Part of your consciousness shut down.  Now
part of it won't shut down.  Stoney, you're good and you're honest and you
care."

   "Jo," I said, "As much as I appreciate it, this isn't something that's
entirely conscious on my part."

   "Maybe with time.  And help." She kissed me softly.  "I wanna help."

   "Jo, do you really want a boyfriend who's a 'fixer-upper'?"

   "Oh, don't be absurd, Stoney.  I know the term quite well.  I have a
bunch of acquaintances and friends who've tried 'fixer-uppers'.  Some of
'em are in it because they like to be on the edges of that whole 'dangerous
bad boy' thing, and some of 'em because they, in my opinion, lack
self-respect.  You, sir, do not qualify for a 'fixer-upper' tag."

   "Be careful what you ask for, Miss Johanna."

   Grin.  "Not asking for anything, Mister Stoney," she smiled.  "Already
got a steady boyfriend." She stretched, her blouse pulling taut over her
smallish breasts, her skirt riding up a bit on those shapely thighs.

   Yes, I looked, trying not to LOOK like I was looking, but Jo's legs were
usually covered by her characteristic jeans.  For concerts she had never
worn the same gown twice, but they were thigh-length, not very revealing.
Now I saw legs.  Nice, long legs.  A man could appreciate legs like that on
a purely aesthetic basis.  Of course that should be no surprise to me. 
Johanna Solheim is a pleasure for the eye.

   "Look, I've seen your apartment now.  What's more important," she said
with a giggle, "is that I'm not shackled to the wall in a sound-proof room,
nor have any of my clothes been ripped from me."

   "I am horribly inept as an abuser of innocent girls," I said.

   "So what I'm saying, Stoney, is that if you take me home tonight, then
tomorrow night I come back and we do pizza and a movie.  It'll be Friday,
so we can stay up late."

   "That sounds like a good deal, lady," I said.

   "But I don't have to leave just yet, you know..." and that perfectly
simple statement was underscored by a kiss.  That led to more kisses.  That
led to us tangled up in a very complex and pleasant array of arms and legs
and hands and faces and lips and teeth, overlaid with a lot of little
giggles and sighs and before long I was seriously considering scooping her
up and carrying her back to the bed where she'd pushed me down earlier.  I
didn't though, because I didn't perceive quite that level of willingness.
But the thought was certainly there.

   It got worse when I had her in my arms, leaning back across my lap and
she wiggled to a more vertical angle and bounced into my lap.  With
twinkling eyes.  After a couple more kisses that would've given a marble
statue an erection, she realized what she was doing, probably because I was
terrifically aroused.  To my dismay, she slid off.

   "I'm sorry, Stoney.  I didn't mean to tease you."

   I kissed her in answer.  "You're no tease.  Delightful, beautiful,
intelligent, and certainly desirable.  But I don't read that as a tease."

   "You sure?"

   "Most fun I've had kissing a girl since, like, ever!" I said.

   "Maybe that's another thing we just connect on, Stoney.  I was going to
say the same thing.  You take my breath away."

   "Jo ...  You're ...  I..."

   She was almost shy with her smile.  "Key's gonna be so hurt that I've
snagged her only chance for a white boy.  And I know.  And we have plenty
of time.  For everything."

   One more searing kiss and she stood up.  I disappeared into the bedroom
and returned fully dressed except for my shoes.  She waited while I put
them on, then we walked out to the car.  Yes, hand in hand.  I felt a sense
of correctness with that configuration.

   We listened to the classical station on the drive from my place to hers,
and I brought her to her apartment.  She walked right in, finding Key
sitting sideways in a recliner with a textbook and iPad in her lap.

   "Hello, white kids," she said, laughing.  The sound of her voice, those
brown eyes, the sassy shake of her head, I harbored thoughts that perhaps
Key would be an interesting person to find out more about.  But I had Jo,
and even with her obvious charms and the exotic charm of that mocha
complexion and the outrageous humor, Key was a dim second.

   "Hello, young Nubian princess," I said.

   "Oh, will ya listen to 'im, Jo," Key laughed.  "Him bein' all wise in
the language an' all that.  Mistah Stoney, I do not delude my Afro-centric
self.  I most likely am the product of the West Coast of the continent."

   "Oh, I know, but I was trying to sway you with effusive language," I
said.

   Her laughter pealed.  "Lord, Johanna!  Is he like that with YOU?"

   Jo smiled demurely.

   "Uh-huh.  It's a wonder you even came home tonight wit' you goin' out
with that silver-tongued devil."

   "I am the epitome of restraint and decorum," I replied.

   "Oh, yeah," Key said.  "An' so was the Big Bad Wolf!"

   Jo laughed.  "You oughtta let him take you to your grandmother's house!"

   "OWWWWW!" Key squealed.  "If you thought Mom an' Dad would have a fit,
my poor ol' grammaw.  I could just see it!  'Grammaw, this is my
fiancĂ(C).' An' we'd be havin' a funeral two days later!"

   I laughed.  "I have a picture of the wedding, girl.  Won't be hard to
figure out who sits on what side of the church."

   We all laughed.  I finally left the apartment with Jo's kiss still
burning on my lips and a million thoughts going through my head.  Nine
hundred ninety-nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine of them were
about Jo.  Lovely Jo.  Smart Jo.  Talented Jo.  Caring Jo.

   The other thought was about Randall Jackson and a bad day in the
sandbox. Were they right?  Was I beating myself up?  That's not the usual
venue of PTSD.  Maybe it wasn't PTSD, after all these years.  I was
thinking PTSD.  And Jo was talking guilt.  Two different things.

   I walked into the apartment, the sweet smell of her delicate perfume
still lingering in the air.

   Shower.  Shave.  To bed, dreading the dreams that I was sure would come.
And they didn't come.

   I woke up to the strange sound of the alarm piercing a solid night's
sleep.  I felt almost alien as I drank my first cup of coffee over
breakfast.  And when I was driving to work, my phone chimed the
announcement of an incoming text.  I waited until I stalled in traffic to
read it.  Jo.  "Good morning, warrior prince.  I hope you slept well.  I
did.  Thank you." And a smiley emoticon.

   I trudged into the office and turned on my workstation, then headed to
the coffee room.  I was stirring the next cup of coffee of this morning
when Bradley slogged in, his favorite mug in hand, sporting a biohazard
logo.

   "Okay, Stoney, spillit!"

   "Spill what?" I asked.

   "OH, don't be coy, boy!  Your date last night.  Meet the parents."

   "I tell you too much of my personal life," I said.  "You take advantage
of my good nature."

   "Give yourself five more years and you'll be like me.  'Good nature'
gets left at the door."

   Since Bradley was one of my favorite co-workers, I smiled.

   "I met the Colonel and the Missus, parents of an altogether spectacular
daughter," I said.  "Conversation was easy and relaxed and pleasant."

   "Colonel?"

   "Army.  Retired.  He was on the general staff of the division I served
with in the sandbox.  That's like five levels above me.  Would've been
terrifying to have to deal with him when I was a lowly lieutenant.  It's
even worse when I walk in holding his daughter's hand."

   "No.  You didn't."

   "Actually, she grabbed MY hand when we walked into the place."

   He shook his head, smiling.  "I take it you're somewhat happy with the
direction this is taking?"

   "I'm very happy with Jo.  Her parents are pleasant, well-educated."

   "What's 'er dad do now?  Besides being a retired colonel?"

   "He works for a consulting firm on security for overseas companies."

   "Ohhhh," Brad said.  "Couldn't leave it alone, then, could he?"

   "I understand he does quite well.  We're one of his clients."

   "Interesting.  And they didn't seem hostile to you?  I mean, you being a
bit older than their daughter?"

   "If they were uncomfortable about that, they didn't show it.  Her mom
was amiable and her dad was pleasant to me.  I didn't see any adverse body
language, and Jo was very happy about the evening when we left."

   "So did she leave with them or with you?"

   "Kinda nosey, ain't we?" I said.

   "I don't have a life of my own.  I must live vicariously through yours,"
he laughed.  "So?"

   "She left with me.  We went to my apartment..."

   "Jackpot!"

   "Hardly.  She is a lady.  Worthy of honor.  If, and when, it will be her
choice.  I'm not totally controlled by hormonal urges."

   "Yeah, uh-huh ...  I'm so sad.  I was hoping for salacious innuendo, at
the least." He shook his head.  "Seriously though.  Serious?"

   "I haven't been serious in a decade, Brad.  But if I was gonna be
serious, Jo would be a candidate."

   "And I can translate that.  'Would be' means 'is'.  And you are serious.
I hope it turns out well for you."

   "You make it sound like a done deal," I said.

   "Oh, no," Brad retorted.  "YOU make it sound like a done deal.  I am
just clarifying the language."

   I took my mug of brown liquid and headed to my cubicle.  Maybe I was
having a perception problem.  I did find myself with a feeling of sliding
down a slope, past the edge of control.  But I didn't feel bad.  That 'past
the edge of control' thing reminded me of childhood, the neighborhood gang
finding a slippery slide down a hill.  Yes, you were out of control once
you committed to the trip, but it was almost guaranteed to be fun.

   Lunchtime, I was eating a cup of instant noodles, "Purina Bachelor Chow"
we called it, and my cellphone went off.  Nope.  No ring.  A passage from a
flute concerto.  And perfectly appropriate, because I had sat in the wings
of a concert hall, watching, as a pretty redhead played that exact piece.

   I punched to answer.  "Hi, sweetness," I said.  "How's your day?"

   "I'm about to strangle a math instructor," she said.  "How's yours?"

   "I'm making the lights stay on in Honduras," I said.  "Not quite as
aggravating.  But I sympathize.  I remember math in college."

   "Oh, you had that scary stuff, too, huh?  Engineering?"

   "You could've handled it, if you wanted.  But I'm very happy that you
bring your form of beauty to the universe."

   "I play a flute," she said.  "You make the world work."

   "And you make it worthwhile for people to live.  At the end of the day,
after the last bolt has been turned, I can turn to the music you bring to
life."

   "Speaking of life," she said, "I remember a promise of pizza and a
movie. You weren't just being nice, were you, to get me out of the way?"

   "Oh, sure ...  No, what time?  Do you want me to come get you?  Or..."

   "I will be there at five.  Make sure you run your day floozies out
before I get there."

   "I shall herd them out amid protests and tears," I laughed.

   "Theirs or yours?"

   "Theirs.  I shall shed no tears because I get Jo AND pizza."



   ------

   Chapter 10

   The rest of Friday dragged but eventually four-thirty came around and I
was out the door.  At four-forty-five I was in traffic and my phone played
me a flute solo.  Jo.

   "Hello, princess," I said.

   "Hi, Stoney," she said.  "Are we still on for tonight?"

   "I'm headed home right now.  Whenever you want to show up."

   Giggle.  "I'm on the way.  I'll get there about the same time you do."

   "Okay," I said.  "I was hoping to have time to clean up, though."

   "You work in an office, Stoney.  You've met me after work.  It's not
like you're gonna reek or something."

   "You're more familiar with me than I thought," I said.

   "You're my Stoney," she answered softly.

   "And you're my Johanna," I countered.

   "See you in a bit.  I'm hanging up so you don't drive distracted."

   "Okay, sweetness," I said.  "Bye."

   "Bye." Click.

   Ten minutes later I pulled into the parking lot, spotting Jo sitting in
her little Honda.  I got out of mine, grabbed my attache' case and waved at
her.  She opened the door of her car.

   "Do you have your flute," I asked.

   She nodded happily, reaching back into her car to retrieve the case and
her own backpack.  Backpack.  College student.  She was more apt to carry
that backpack than a purse on most days, only abandoning it for occasions
when we 'dressed up' to go to dinner or a movie.

   As she reached my side she was smiling still.  "I didn't realize I would
be required to play for my dinner, sir."

   "Worse, far worse than that," I laughed back.  "My fingers're numb from
trying to play harp music on a banjo.  Somebody had a bright idea..."

   Giggle.  "You really are trying?"

   "Ma'am," I said, "Not only am I trying, but in some cases I am
succeeding."

   "I gotta see this," she said.

   "That may be the best approach: See, instead of hear," I said.

   "If you were doing that bad, you wouldn't've mentioned it," she smiled.

   I unsheathed the key to my townhouse and let us inside, then shut and
locked the door behind us.

   She sniffed.  "New smell.  Air freshener?"

   "Potpourri," I replied.

   "Put that briefcase down, guy.  You need both arms."

   I complied.  Found that two arms were wonderfully employed when filled
with soft femininity in the mood for kissing.

   We were both equally breathless when the kiss waned.  Still I held her
in my arms and she clung to me with her own.

   "Did you miss me today like I missed you?" she questioned.

   "In the most horrible of fashions.  If the lights go out in Guatemala,
you are partially responsible," I said.  "Thought about you entirely too
much."

   She looked at me from close range, sky-blue eyes reading my soul. 
"You're serious about this?"

   "This?  Like 'me and you' this?"

   She nuzzled her head against my chest.  "Yes."

   "Probably more serious than I should be for as long as we've known each
other.  But, serious.  Because I think a lot of you and you're not somebody
I'd toy with."

   "I don't see you as the toying type, Stoney," she said, turning her face
up.

   I couldn't resist the implied offer of another kiss.  She molded herself
to me as we tasted each other.

   Finally we parted.  "Wow!" I said.  "You..."

   She smiled.  "Pizza?  Only reason I'm saying it is because 'Wow!'."

   "I know," I said.  One more time.  "Wow!"

   "Let's talk serious," I said.

   "Serious?" She looked suddenly concerned.

   "Yes.  One of the watershed moments in any relationship is the
compatibility of choices in pizza toppings."

   "Then let me rush out on the limb," she giggled.  "Regular crust,
loaded, with anchovies."

   "Anchovies?  You're serious?"

   "Yes.  Scandinavian roots introduce an affinity for rotted seafood.  I
can do without, if that's more than you can handle."

   "I love anchovies.  In my opinion, they define a good pizza.  This place
I'm calling, they can double up on them."

   "Call 'em.  And yes.  Double." She smiled.  "So how do I fall out on
that watershed moment?  Hmmm?"

   "Another check mark on the 'plus' side," I said as I called up the pizza
company's webpage.  She looked over my shoulder as I navigated the order
process.  "I don't order on line very often.  Usually it's just me, and if
I order the minimum order I end up eating pizza for a couple of days."

   "Anchovy pizza's even better the next day," she said.  "The flavors
meld."

   "Listen to you," I laughed.  "A connoisseur of leftover pizza.  We have
thirty or forty minutes."

   "Drag out your banjo," she said.  "Let's see what you can do."

   "Don't laugh.  I do this on the side, you know, between sailing and the
rest of life.  Including running around with a red-headed cutie pie." I
opened up the sheet music folder and just like the old song says, I put the
banjo on my knee.  She waited expectantly as I flipped pages.

   "You're doing the Third Movement?"

   "Yeah," I said.  "I listened to it carefully and the harp runs are
really quite similar to bluegrass banjo rolls.  And it's in the key of C,
which is not too awfully hard for me."

   "I'm all ears."

   "You're not," I laughed.  "I looked."

   Giggle.  And she stuck her tongue at me.

   I launched into a phrase.  Her eyes widened.  "Hey, that's not bad at
all.  Wait!" She opened the case of her flute and assembled it.  "Gimme a
note!"

   "D," I said, hitting a string, letting it ring.  She matched the note,
made an adjustment.

   "Again," she said.  I did.  "Okay, let's see." She put her sheet music
on the stand beside mine.  "We'll do this passage.  Can you start here at
this measure?"

   "You know, don't you, dear, that I've never really played with anyone
else."

   "So we'll learn together, huh.  I'll count down.  One  -" two  -" three,
and you start, okay?  And I'll be right there with you."

   "Let's do it," I said.  There was a flash in her eyes, then a smile, and
she said "One..."

   And we made music together.  I only wish that the notes flowed from my
fingers as they did from her lips.  Jo was perfect.  Me?  Not quite so. 
Still, we had fun.

   "You need to learn to move on past one of those wrong notes, baby," she
said.  "That's one of the things you need to learn.  You're a
perfectionist. When you do a wrong note, you come to a stop.  You need to
just recognize it and keep on playing."

   I heard what she said, but when she appended 'baby' at the end of the
first phrase, my mind went blank for a second.

   "You're not listening."

   "I heard you call me 'baby'."

   "I've called you baby before," she said.

   "I know.  Still sounds strange."

   "That you're my baby?"

   "Yes," I answered.  "I like it."

   "Good.  It is what it is.  You're my baby.  And I'm yours."

   I smiled.  "Yes you are," I said.  "One more time." I straightened my
banjo and she raised her flute and we ran through a passage.  We were
getting better together.  Musically, too.

   The doorbell rang, harbinger of pizza.  I put the box on the counter and
opened the lid with Jo anxiously at my side.

   "Mmmmm," she said.  "I can smell the anchovies."

   "What a rare creature you are," I said, handing her a plate.  "Coke?"

   "Wonderful!"

   We sat at the table across from each other, eating, talking and
laughing.

   "I LOVE this," she said.  "Nobody I know of wants these things."

   "I love 'em myself," I said.  "And I'm like you.  If I have 'em, I
usually get my own pizza."

   "How do anchovy kisses usually affect the evening's amorous activities?"

   She replied, "First, there are no amorous activities and second, I am
familiar with chewing gum, mouthwash and a toothbrush."

   "A sure sign of your cosmopolitan upbringing," I said.

   She laughed.  "You're a beast!  However, since the two of us have both
had the dreaded little stinky fish, we reek equally, so that's not an
issue. However, since I am playing my flute, I need to brush my teeth after
this meal."

   "And I have to wash my hands.  Can't be getting pizza grease on my
banjo."

   Giggle.  "Sounds almost lewd," she smirked.

   "Wasn't meant to be, but that idea of anchovy-tainted kisses sounds
attractive."

   "Let's see," she said, rising.  I met her halfway.  The kiss was
wonderful, but our reluctance to use pizza-oiled hands on each other
somewhat dampened the ardor.  Which is probably a good thing.

   We finished our pizza amid happy talk.  I had leftovers for the fridge.
As I was putting it away, she asked "Do you possibly have a spare
toothbrush?"

   I was thinking that might be construed as an odd question.  And I had an
equally odd answer.  "Yeah, the top drawer on the vanity.  There's one
brand new, still in the package."

   "I'll be right back," she said.  I heard noises from the bathroom.

   "Holler when you finish.  If you're brushing your teeth, I'm brushing
mine."

   "Then come in.  We can share the bathroom," she said, followed by the
sound of water running.

   I barged in, finding her bent over the basin.  I started my own exercise
as she rinsed her mouth.  She cleaned the toothbrush and placed it in an
empty hole in the holder.

   "What an interesting next step towards intimacy," she said.

   I didn't try to answer that one just yet, not with a toothbrush and a
mouthful of foam.  She tiptoed and kissed me on the cheek, and darned if it
didn't feel ever so intimate.  She scooted past me in the bathroom, bumping
up against me rather more than I imagined necessary.  The bathroom isn't
THAT small.

   Walking out of the bathroom into the living room, I said, "Intimate?"

   Giggle and laughing blue eyes.  "Yes, definitely intimate.  Get to hear
each other make disgusting noises.  Making funny faces.  And showing me
your private areas, like the drawer in your bathroom." Giggle.  "And no
pink toothbrush."

   "No second toothbrush at all," I replied.  "I've never had a woman spend
the night here, and certainly not one who saw a need to leave her
toothbrush." Which is why I was a bit surprised at her retort.

   "That's MY toothbrush in there now.  Make you nervous?"

   "Should I be?  I mean, I have this incredible girlfriend who comes over,
eats anchovy pizza with me, and practices good oral hygiene while we play
music."

   "MAKE music," she said.  "'Play' isn't quite serious enough for what I'm
doing.  With music."

   I caught the pause.  Wondered if it was as significant as it could be.

   "You didn't say anything, Stoney," she said.  "You're thinking again."

   "And you're reading me like an open book."

   "Book?  What's this 'book' of which you speak?  I seem to remember
hearing of a communications medium from before everybody had iPhones and
iPads..." Giggle.  "And yes, your face speaks even before the words come
out of your mouth.  That's a good thing, too, because you seem to clam up
to people who care about you, you know..."

   It doesn't help to tell your troubles to others," I said.  "Half of 'em
don't want to hear, and the other half figure you had it coming to you."

   She snickered, then caught herself.  "Don't try to hide behind humor,
Stoney.  I'm serious."

   "I am too, beautiful Johanna.  You're the first person I've ever really
had a talk with about that day.  Other than therapists and debriefing
officers."

   "Am I the first that asked?"

   "No, you're the first that I trusted."

   "Why do you trust me, Stoney?"

   "I dunno.  Just something I saw, then something in the way you spoke
when we first hung out together.  You just seemed, I dunno, honest, I
guess. Haven't done anything to suggest that I'm wrong."

   "You see me as a good thing.  A lot of people think I'm strange," she
said.

   "How so?  You don't look strange.  You don't act strange."

   I have been told that I am a creature out of my time," she said, only
slightly smiling for me.  "After that incident in high school, I lost any
of the normal teen proclivity for adventure and danger in the form of
alcohol, drugs or sex."

   "Drugs?"

   "Never," she said.  "Not even once."

   "You've had wine with me.  And at dinner with your parents."

   "That's in the proper cultural context.  Chugging beer and downing jello
shots at a frat party, that's a big 'no'.  I remain in control.  If I am
going to have a drink or two or three, I will be in the company of people
whom I can trust to treat me with respect, not as a drunken play-toy."

   I was parsing the 'sex' part.  I almost asked, but decided that she
would tell if she wanted to.

   "But I'm here in your apartment and I know you have a full bottle of
chianti and some Riesling and a couple of domestic reds and if you and I
shared a glass or two..." she smiled.  "I can trust us..."

   "Are you sure, Jo?  You're awfully tempting..."

   She smiled.  "And you're awfully honorable.  Like if I slid over there
beside you like this..." She pushed me to the end of the sofa and squeezed
up against me.  "And we kissed like this..." Our lips met, hands and arms
found ways to pull us together ever closer.  Our lips parted.  She sighed.
"And I know YOU feel something because I feel something.  But..."

   "But we seem to have limits." I said it, but I wished we could move
those limits.

   She snuggled deeper into my arms.  "I always did.  Until you ... 
Dammit!"

   That was the first time I'd ever heard Jo use a profane word.  It just
wasn't her nature, so when that popped out, I took heed.  "What did I do?"

   "Knelt in front of me one day and told me to play a flute passage.  It's
been really a new path for me since then, Mister Randall Jackson."

   "Right back at ya, Miss Johanna Solheim.  Your presence in my arms is
making me question my entire expectation of the future."

   "Is something wrong with me, Stoney?  I mean, everybody I know has had
multiple relationships and partners and having somebody slide into and out
of their lives is a norm.  I've never had ONE."

   "Never?"

   "When I do this," and she kissed me lightly three times on my lips,
"it's a first.  Kissed Mom and Dad and cousins and friends.  But never
kissed a guy and got all tingly."

   "Jo ...  You're precious to me."

   "How precious?" She pulled back, gazing into my eyes, a bit of mirth
returning to her smile.

   "If I were independently wealthy, I would hire you so that every morning
I could wake up to your music."

   Smile morphed to tight little smirk.  "But you're NOT independently
wealthy.  So how about if you woke up every morning to..." she leaned,
putting her lips near my ear and whispered.  "I love you, Stoney.  It's
morning.  Let's live our lives together today." And she sat back to see the
effect.

   The effect, mostly internal, was like an electric shock.

   Her eyes were soft, moist, expectant.  "If you said that, then surely we
must be in love," I said.  "Unless you're talking hypothetically."

   She shook her head.  "Nope.  The symptoms are all there.  Everything but
a notebook page with 'Mrs.  Randall Jackson' written thirty-one times in
flowery script." She sighed.  "Oh, Stoney, it's all just NOT the way I
planned it, but then it's just real.  And it's too soon.  I told myself
that I needed to wait and see what developed.  What developed is ...  You.
Me." Still expectant.

   Oh, well.  If one must fall, then out of three billion females on the
planet, this one was without a doubt the best, brightest, prettiest.  And
she wasn't the only one trying to hold off on saying the 'L-word'.  "Yes,
sweetness," I said.  "I love you.  I want you to love me.  But, Jo, I'm,
you know..."

   "I don't know if I know everything, Stoney.  Nobody really does, about
another person.  But it seems that somewhere along the line, you just have
to admit it to yourself and dive in.  And no, you're ...  there's nothing I
know about you that scares me."

   "What about me makes you think 'love'?"

   "Are you crazy, Stoney?  You want a logical analysis?  Of why I love
you? Seriously?" She giggled and wiggled her way against my chest. 
"Stoney, I love you.  I said it.  I want to love you.  I want to be silly
about loving you."

   "Don't break my heart, Johanna Elise," I said.

   "Mom calls me that when she's serious." She kissed me.

   "Everybody's mom uses the middle name.  That's the reason that we get
middle names: so we'll know when our parents are serious."

   Giggle.  Kiss.  "Love me, Stoney.  Be my warrior engineer prince."

   "I will, as long as you want me to love you.  And even if you stop, I
won't."

   "Don't look so sad, Stoney," she said.

   "Jo, you have my heart.  Gave it to you like I never gave it before."

   "Don't you think I should know that?  You hold my heart in return."

   I kissed her, softly at first, but she indicated that a little more
ardor might be in order at very close distance.  I said "Jo, you're more
than I ever dreamed."

   Almost shyly she answered "Stoney, I didn't know what to dream.  Are you
kind of scared?"

   I nodded.

   "Me too." Her hands gently cradled my face.  Anther little kiss.  "But
Stoney, we're both good candidates.  I know you're a man of honor, and Mom
and Dad wouldn't let me be any other way.  Don't you think we're..."

   "Compatible," I finished.

   "Yes.  Compatible.  I can relax around you.  Like this." She wiggled. 
"I'm safe."

   "You keep wiggling like that, redheaded girl..."

   She smirked.  "I could lie and say 'sorry', but this part is kind of new
to me.  And I know we have to stop.  But it feels good."

   I think I whined when she got off my lap.  She put her fingertip to my
lips.  "We're going steady.  We said 'I love you'.  One step at a time."
Her eyes twinkled.  How could I argue?  I loved the girl.  She walked above
the clouds.

   "We make music together." She picked up her flute and ran through a
couple of measures she knew would make me smile.  She's right, of course.
"Now, let's run through some of that Third Movement."

   "You're a hard taskmaster."

   "Mistress.  I am your taskmistress.  And unless you have objections,
we're having dinner with Mom and Dad again.  They fly back to Denver on
Sunday." She watched my face.  "Oh, come on!  You're not shocked.  You knew
they were here for the weekend."

   I smiled.  "I shall happily escort you, my dear." I picked up my banjo
and played a bluegrass riff.

   She put the flute to her lips, counted, and we were off again.  Yes, I
was getting better.  She was perfect.  We went after the music with an
almost uncomfortable intensity.  Gone were the days of plunking along with
friends of similar skill and dedication.  I was in the presence of a
virtuoso and I needed to elevate my effort

   Finally she put her flute down, smiling.  "Getting good.  Take the banjo
off your knee.  Something else belongs there."

   I set the instrument aside and she straddled my leg.  I accepted a
flurry of kisses, her hands cradling my head, touching my neck.  "See the
kind of music we make?" A long kiss.  "Stoney.  Let's see where this all
goes.  A little bit at a time."

   "Jo.  Yes, let's see where it goes."

   I walked her to her car and kissed her before she got in and drove off.
I went back into the apartment, locked the door behind me and hit the
shower.  Hot water and soapy lather made relief easy and fast.  And left me
feeling guilty.  Jo.  She wasn't sex to me.  Well, maybe not just sex.  But
she could really get me going.

   I was eating yet another solitary breakfast the next morning when my
phone rang.  I didn't immediately recognize the number.  "This is Stoney
Jackson," I said.

   The voice was immediately recognizable.  Key.  "Good mornin' Stoney.  I
knew you'd be up."

   "You knew?"

   "Yeah, you got that look.  Don't look like a slacker that lays around
all day.  And I know what time Jo came in.  What are you doin' to my white
child?"

   "What do you mean?"

   "Look," she said.  "You know Jo.  She's always smiling.  Almost always,
anyway."

   "Her smile is one of the things I find attractive," I said.

   "Well, Stoney, she's upped it a notch.  Last night when she came in. 
This morning before she took off to do the grocery shopping."

   "I'm glad she's happy."

   "I wanna know why."

   "It ought to be something that she tells you.  I'm sure you understand."

   "Jo's my best friend.  And despite the obvious chroma differences, she's
my sister.  You worry about your sister, you know."

   "Look, Key," I said, "Jo is the most important person in my life.  I am
not going to hurt her, if that's what you're worrying about."

   "Of course that's what I'm worried about," she said.  "I tried to keep
her from dating our friend, the trumpet player.  I knew he was trouble. 
You, I like you.  You act different.  Not like you're playing a game. 
Don't be playing a game with my Jo."

   "Key, my little friend, I worry that Jo's playing a game with me."

   "Jo's not playing a game, Stoney.  We talked.  She's serious.  Got her
heart out there for you."

   "I know she's vulnerable, Key.  So am I."

   "You two look happy together.  I just want her to stay that way."

   "Me too," I said.

   "Girl says y'all're goin' steady.  I ain't heard of anyone going steady
since high school."

   "I agreed to going steady with 'er," I said.  "Easy choice for me.  I
don't have any other females in my life, and nobody's even close to beating
out Jo if I was looking.  I wasn't.  Now I damn sure am not looking."

   "She wasn't looking either.  That's what makes this a shock to me.  She
kind of shut down after that date with David.  Before that ...  Has she
told you anything?"

   "About being attacked?"

   "See, I knew it.  She's opened up to you.  After a couple of weeks, yet.
We roomed together for months before she told me.  That's another piece of
data, you know."

   I was gathering a lot of data from this conversation myself.  "We both
have issues, Key.  She knows about mine, at least as much as I know about
it.  She's not the only one in this relationship to open up, just so you
know."

   "Oooo-kayyyyy," Key said.

   "And she's the only one, aside from some professionals whom I've seen.
And you know what?"

   "What?"

   "I feel better talking to Jo than any of the pros.  Makes a difference.
Jo makes a difference."

   "Jo does that," Key replied.  "Anyway, I just wanted you to know that I
saw what's going on and you need to know that I know.  I'm just taking care
of my sister."

   "That's two of us, Key."

   "Good.  You two white kids be good to one another, then."



   ------

   Chapter 11

   Okay.  So Key worries about Jo.  Can't fault her for that.  I worry
about Jo too.  It's not hard.  I close my eyes, let my mind drift, and
there's Jo.

   So she was grocery shopping on a Saturday morning.  I picked up my
phone, pushed the button and said "Johanna".

   Siri replied, "Calling Johanna Solheim mobile".  I held the phone to my
ear.

   "Hi, Stoney," she said.

   "Hi, my baby," I replied.  "Why didn't you call?"

   "Let you sleep late.  I'm just getting some groceries for the week.  The
milk in the fridge smells funny.  No bananas.  Key ate the last of the
Cheetos.  We're in dire straits."

   "You still have a smile in your voice."

   "And you called me to see what I was doing, so apparently neither of us
is regretting last night, then."

   "Nope," I said.  "I stand by my previous statement."

   "Good," she said.  "How about we hang out together after I dump the
groceries at the apartment?"

   "Love it," I said.  "Plans?  Ideas?"

   "I dunno.  Did Mom and Dad scare you the other night?"

   "Of course not," I said.  "It's not like we announced the impending
birth of our illegitimate child."

   Giggle.  "No, really.  They're going back to Denver tomorrow.  I'd like
to have dinner with them tonight.  With you at my side, because that's just
the way I want to do it."

   "Jo, are you sure?  Your parents might want some time with just you and
themselves.  I don't want to intrude on that."

   "Oh, for heaven's sake, Stoney, you don't understand.  I want you there.
My parents want me to be normal.  You're a lot of normal, guy.  More than
they expected."

   "Dress up like last night?" was my way of surrendering.

   "Oh, no.  I'm going to guide them to a good informal Italian place.  Mom
doesn't quite do jeans, but that's what I'm wearing.  You may dress in your
work clothes."

   "What's your dad gonna wear?"

   Giggle.  "Dad will wear a business dress shirt.  The lack of necktie
will be his concession to informality."

   "You make him sound stuffy."

   "Oh, really, he's not.  He's a great dad.  But he does have his public
persona and he frets."

   "So you and I, we just go boppin' into the restaurant and meet them?"

   "Just like Thursday."

   "Jo, just so you don't have to have your hearing checked..."

   "What?"

   "I love you."

   A little squeal of delight came over the phone.  "Do you really, Stoney?
Really?"

   "Yes I do."

   "I love you too," she said.  "Let me check out.  Pick me up at my place
in half an hour.  And thank you."

   "Thank me?"

   "For being who you are.  You know what I mean."

   I showered, shaved, slipped into my Saturday schlepping around ('schlep'
is one of those good words I learned from a Jewish buddy in the army) togs,
grabbed my crash bag of essentials that are part of the prepared engineer's
repertoire, and headed out the door.  With a little more of a spring in my
step, in case you're wondering.

   I pulled into Jo's parking lot in a space that was empty because it was
farther away than the desirable spots, and I waited.  It wasn't long before
Jo's car pulled in, and I went to help her bring the bags in.

   She unlocked her door and barged in, yelling, "Key, make sure you're
decent!  Stoney's here!"

   Key peeked around the corner from her bedroom.  "My, my, my!  Look at
him!  Carrying bags.  You already got 'im trained, Jo!" Key's smile lights
up a room.  "You all domesticated, Stoney?"

   "I come from a long line of civilized males," I said.  "We've evolved.
Knuckles don't even drag the ground."

   "I can see that," she said.  Jo lead me into the kitchen and I handed
her items from the bags as she put them away.

   "Got your Cheetos," she told Key cheerfully.

   "Yeah, like I'm the only one that eats 'em."

   "She hasn't gotten you to eat anchovy pizza, has she?" I asked.

   "Oh HELL no!  It comes from the box smelling like bad leftovers."

   I shook my head as Jo smiled.

   Key gasped.  "No!  YOU?!?!"

   "I love it.  Have loved it for years."

   "Figures," Key smiled.  "Four million guys in the city and Jo picks the
one that actually likes anchovies."

   "That's actually not that rare," I said.

   "Maybe not, but it ain't that common, either." She smirked at me.  "And
you know it."

   "Destiny," Jo chirped.  "And you know it." She grabbed my hand, tugging
me toward the door as she laughed.  "See ya!"

   "Y'all have fun!" Key said.

   Spending a sunny autumn day walking around parks with a pretty,
intelligent redhead is good.  Late afternoon, though I asked, "DO I need to
take you home to get ready for dinner?"

   "Certainly not!  My parents are used to seeing me dressed like this. 
We're a couple spending the afternoon at the park, and we're meeting them
at an informal restaurant." She paused, lips forming a pretty bow.  "Do you
feel like YOU need to get cleaned up?"

   "Not when you put it that way," I said.

   "Look!  Nice green spot under that tree over there.  Let's go sit!" We
held hands and walked across the green.  "Sit!"

   "Yes, ma'am," I said.  I backed up against a tree trunk and eased down.
She turned away from me, sat, and leaned back into my arms.

   "Perfect!" she said.  "Stoney, I'm getting terribly fond of you, you
know."

   "I have the same issue," I said.  "What do we do about it?  Are you
scared?  Uncomfortable?  Uneasy?"

   "Nope, nope and no," she said.  "It's just uncharted territory.  And I'm
quite happy to be here." She languished back, wiggling to encourage me to
hold her tightly.  "What do we do?  We keep doing what we're doing."

   "You like it."

   "I love it.  Johanna is in love.  I have a reason to smile."

   "Don't give me that!" I injected.  "That was the very first thing I
noticed.  Well, there were a lot of things I noticed, but the smile was
what ties them all together."

   She leaned her head back, rubbing it against my cheek.  "You don't do
badly yourself, Stoney."

   "I smile more, too, Jo." I turned my head slightly, teasing a few
strands of her hair with my lips.  "You have no idea..."

   She purred, "Why don't you tell me..."

   "Because I'm just an engineer.  Language is a tool I use to describe and
define finite, specific elements of structure and design.  I'd need to have
the heart of a Beethoven or a Mozart and the vocabulary of a Keats or a
Shelley to put words to what I feel right now."

   She rolled over, planted her lips on my own.  Time ceased to exist until
she pulled back ever so slightly.  "I think you do just fine, my Stoney."

   "Your Stoney?"

   "Do you want to be possessed?  Owned.  Connected?  If you do, then
you're MY Stoney.  If you don't, you're yourself, but in my heart you're My
Stoney."

   'Jo, Jo, Jo," I said, "Why is it so easy to love you?"

   She smiled.  "You know, I've asked myself the same question, Stoney.  I
sort of figured I'd run into some guy in the orchestra, common music
interests, my age, all that.  And that would be it.  Jo and whomever would
slide off into a long relationship followed by a marriage.  You're just so
far off the scope.  D'you know you're the first real engineer I've ever
known?  Well, you are.  And I find the heart of a poet and the heart of an
artist and the heart of a warrior ...  all those different hearts, beating
right here..." and she kissed my chest.

   "You're serious," I said.

   She looked up at me with those clear blue eyes.  "Stoney, we used the
'L-word'.  Isn't that the epitome of 'serious'?  I know it's not, not with
a lot of people, but I thought that you..."

   "I was dead serious, Jo, my little flower.  I worried that I might have
missed something and you were one of that 'lot of people'."

   "See.  You listen to what I say." The smile was there.  "And no, I'm not
one of 'a lot of people.' Words mean things.  Specific things.  'Love'
doesn't mean 'for tonight' or 'this week' or 'until that other guys is
free'.  Dad loves Mom.  Mom loves Dad.  That's how love is supposed to be."

   "I'm not one of those people either, Johanna Elise," I said, the sound
of her name a salve for my soul.  "This is sounding serious."

   "Never has been this way before, Stoney.  You're the first."

   "The first?"

   "The first guy I ever told that I love him."

   "How many are you supposed to have?"

   "Depends on the venue.  Fairy tales?  Just one.  The life of the average
co-ed?  One every two weeks for a decade."

   "And where does my Jo fall out in that distribution?"

   A long, public kiss.  "Far, far out on the fairy tale side.  What about
Stoney."

   I brushed my fingers gently over that smooth cheek.  "Waiting at the
fairy tale end of the curve.  People don't seem to be out here any more."

   "Just me and you.  Like we really need the rest of the world." She slid
up a little on me, kissing.

   We stopped talking.  I guess she was digesting what we had just told
each other.  I know I was.  The sound of city traffic penetrated into the
park, but it was mitigated by the sounds of squirrels and birds and people.
Little kids played a hundred yards away, climbing, swinging, running,
laughing.  And I had Jo.

   Equally strange, she had me.

   We watched squirrels chasing.  "Territory," Jo said.  "Or mates.  Or
just plain 'my belly's full and let's play'."

   "All of those.  The territory is because the male wants the female and
wants the other male to leave."

   "Like a guy I know who protected a certain female?"

   "There's a difference between 'protect', that was me, and 'possess',
that was, apparently, him."

   "So I'm protected, not possessed, with you?"

   "We're talking about a human," I said.  "You don't get to be owned by
anybody unless you want to be."

   "Stoney, maybe I want to be."

   I looked at the face before me.  Physically attractive?  Very much yes.
Intelligent?  Another yes.  I wondered what I was holding back.  Jo seemed
to be pressing forward.

   "You're charging right in, aren't you?" I said.

   "Is it the wrong approach?  Stoney, we're both adults." Her smile faded.
"Are you expecting subtlety?  I can do that."

   "No, I'm expecting Jo, startling in so many ways."

   "So in this relationship, I'm the impetuous one."

   "And I think it's an entirely charming trait.  You have me off balance,
Jo.  I love you.  I know I love you.  I'm kind of startled at both the fact
that I find myself with that feeling, and that I have risked announcing it
to you.  What do you know about the care and feeding of the human heart?"

   "I'll take care of yours if you'll take care of mine."

   "I am your possession, Miss Johanna," I said.  Verbalizing it made it so
in my own mind.

   The smile came back.  "Good!  Now it's my turn to sit.  You put your
head in my lap." She got up.  I moved, she sat down, and I lay back,
putting my head on a soft thigh.  I might just as well relax and enjoy
being captured.  I only wished it would be a long captivity.

   She traced my face with her fingertips, gazing lovingly at me.  That's a
first for me.  I felt her fingertip trace the scar.

   "Don't get grossed out."

   "I am not the least bit grossed out, guy.  It's a feature.  Like my red
hair and freckles.  I've never known you without your scar."

   "I can show you pictures, but they're ten years old."

   "One day I want to see them.  But don't worry about me falling in love
with the old Stoney.  The one I have here is the one I fell in love with."

   "Jo, I don't know what happened to your brain, but whatever it is, I
hope they can't cure it."

   "Its bad, Stoney," She smiled.  "It's like a drug, and every day I think
I need a bigger and bigger dose."

   "Jo, just be careful what you wish for."

   She kissed her fingertip and touched it to my lips.  "Didn't know what
to wish for.  Now I do."

   "Do you know how absolutely beautiful you are?"

   "Yes I do.  To you, Stoney," she smiled.  "I see your eyes when you look
at me."

   "Others see it, too, little one," I said.  "But to me, it's a religion."

   She caressed my face.  "You're the high priest of Johanna worship."

   "Yes I am."

   Her smile broadened.  "Stoney, we say all these things to each other. 
Are we in love, or is it just possible to be in love with the idea of
love?"

   I took a deep breath, the air tinged with tendrils of perfume.  "Both
are certainly possible," I said.  "I think my feelings are real.  I've been
kind of leery of the idea of love, now I find myself enjoying it with you."
I sighed.  "I'm going out on a limb, here ...  If you're just in love with
the idea of love."

   "I AM both, Stoney." She saw my expression change.  "No, don't get
scared.  Every girl I know of starts out believing in love.  Wanting to be
in love.  Wanting that one perfect guy who will return her love, put two
lives together to make one."

   "I thought that was an archaic notion," I said.

   "Oh, sure," she answered.  "I've hung around the feminists and the
radicals.  I'm a college girl.  I wanted to explore, see how other people
think, see if new ideas might be a fit for me.  And I listened and
questioned, and you know, behind all of that, it starts out with love. 
Some of 'em get burnt by the people they love, some are swayed, and they
get away from it, but they start out there." She smiled, tracing my
eyebrows with her fingertip.  "I never left there.  Mom and Dad, they
showed me how two people can be in love even when one of 'em goes off to
war and comes back with shadows in his head.  How two people and their
daughter can move every three years between the United States and several
foreign countries.  How they can laugh and get angry with one another and
disagree and agree and compromise and change.  Stoney, I have a secret."

   "A secret?" A phrase like that could scare somebody if it wasn't uttered
by a serenely beautiful redhead who was caressing your head in her lap,
with a smile on her lips."

   "Yeah, a secret.  You know all those fairy tales where it says 'and they
lived happily ever after?' Those stories?"

   "Yeah?"

   "I know what 'happily ever after' looks like." She smiled.  "Looks like
Mom and Dad.  Not perfect.  Not bumpless.  But it goes on and on and on."

   "I had a similar life, precious," I said.  "There was some yelling and
cussing and even an occasional pot thrown, but at the end ...  together."

   "Then you see what manner of idea I am in love with, Stoney.  That's the
'idea' part.  The 'who' part, that's the head I have in my lap."

   "That's sounding awfully definite, Jo," I said.

   "It's not a marriage proposal if that's what you're hearing, Stoney.  I
just want you to know it's not a fling thing." There was a 'but I've
thought about it' look in her eyes.  It looked like a smile.  "I haven't
seen you mad or really, really stressed."

   "Oh, I guess settin' David on his butt wasn't stress."

   Giggle.  "That doesn't count, Stoney.  I don't think you really had to
exert yourself."

   "I seldom get mad, Jo."

   "I wonder what Stoney looks like when tossed about by..." I recognized
the idea forming in her head by the effect it had on her face.  "We need to
go sailing again.  A good one."

   "Sailing relaxes me, Jo.  Hardly a prescription to put me under a
strain. But I like the idea."

   She smiled.  "Oh, I know.  But I like seeing you and being with you."

   "Next weekend?  Saturday?"

   "I was thinking we could motor out to that spot where we anchored the
first time.  On Friday.  Wake up early Saturday, get out to the Gulf, see
where we can go and still be back Sunday."

   "Two nights.  Me and you.  Together.  On a thirty-six foot boat.  Are
you sure?"

   She bent over and kissed my nose.  "I'm sure.  Should I worry about
anything?"

   "The boat'll handle it."

   "Oh, you're thinking about my chastity..." she squealed.

   "And mine.  But yes ...  Jo, I'm not out for a bounce in the sack."

   "Nor am I.  Stoney, I never have ...  I'm not like a lot of girls.  I
know some who run a partner a week.  I'm still waiting for my first one."

   I tried to NOT look startled.

   "That thing where I got attacked, I think that shut my hormones down."

   "Not that I can see," I said.  "You grew up just fine."

   "Beast!" she giggled.  "I'm talking about emotionally."

   "Jo, let me tell you something," I said.  "I want to be totally honest
with you."

   "And..." she said, her eyes boring into mine.

   "You drive me crazy.  I mean, your kisses.  Your touch.  I see you walk
into a room, hear your voice, I'm ...  and when we cuddle together and I
feel you pressing against me, I..."

   "Oh, Stoney ...  I don't mean to get you aroused like that.  But you
need to know it's not a one-way street.  Not by a long shot, guy."

   "Jo, it's just that, so far, we've managed to cool things back down and
you've ended up at your place and I've ended up at mine.  I don't trust us
overnight on a little boat."

   "Would you ever hurt me, Stoney?"

   "No."

   "Have you taken advantage of me?"

   "No."

   "Have you been totally honest with me?"

   "I can't think of anything significant that I haven't told you, Jo."

   "Then we're absolutely safe." She patted my cheek.  "Nothing could
possibly go wrong."

   "You're crazy, you know," I said.  "Or I am."

   "Or both of us are." She giggled.  "Stoney, I'm just saying."

   "I have no idea what we're saying, Johanna," I said.

   Her laughter tinkled in my ears.  "I have no idea what we're saying
either.  We're like two of the biggest lumps of plutonium on the planet,
about to reach critical mass."

   'Okay, ' I was thinking, 'we're tip-toeing around each other.  This
should be fun.  Happy.' "What's critical mass going to look like?"

   She playfully tapped me on the side of my head.  "Oh, come on, Stoney,
you're the engineer here.  You know what critical mass means.  All kinds of
heat and energy from fusion."

   I could imagine all of those: Heat.  Energy.  Fusion.  And Jo was fast
becoming, no, change that, she had become the one female on the planet with
whom I harbored those thoughts.  Lots of other thoughts were there, too,
thoughts of caring and living and sharing.  But definitely fusion.  And I
didn't correct her on the idea that she was think of critical mass, and
that was fission, not fusion, but as metaphor for where we seemed to be
heading, I liked fusion a lot better.

   She caught the expression.  Giggled.  "Maybe 'fusion' isn't he word we
need to be using.  Or maybe it is the word.  In due time."

   "Is this where we're headed, Jo?"

   "Stoney, listen to me.  I wouldn't have done what we've done and said
what we've said if I wasn't serious.  I watched the games.  I don't play
them.  Let's just see how far this goes.  We're going steady.  When I was
in high school that meant 'engaged to be engaged', which is pretty serious
if you take those words at face value, not that most high school kids do."
She paused thoughtfully.  "Well, a lot of 'em did, mostly girls.  Guys knew
it meant something else."

   "What does Johanna think it means?"

   "Serious stuff.  Are you scared?"

   "No.  Not at all.  I should trust you, shouldn't I?"

   "And I should trust you.  That's what this time is about.  You and I, we
spend time together and apart and we see how well we fit." She smiled.  "So
far, it's good, don't you think?"

   "Better than it ever has been."

   "Nice to know.  Let's go find something to drink." She gave me an
encouraging shove and I stood up.  I extended my hand, pulling her up and
into my arms.

   "You're the least scary thing I know of, Jo."

   "We're having dinner with Mom and Dad."

   "More scary."

   "They're not," she said.

   "I know, but the joke was obvious.  I had to take it."

   She laughed.  "Gimme a cold drink and I will forgive you."

   Hand in hand we walked across the park to the concession stand where I
paid an exorbitant amount for a couple of sodas.  We sat on a park bench
while we drank them.  I listened to her give me a running commentary on the
people she observed and we bantered and argued about various points of
observation.

   "You're more generous than I am sometimes, Stoney," she said, standing.
"Why don't we go back to your place so we can wash our faces and freshen up
for this evening?"

   "Your toothbrush is there.  Makes it your apartment, too."

   "Nope.  Won't be my apartment until I leave a flute and a change of
clothes, but it's a nice apartment."

   "You know, punkin," I said, "you're like somebody carbonated my life.  I
run around with you and life is effervescent.  It's got sparkle."

   "I'm sparkle?" she giggled.

   "Yes you are.  You're a new level of happy in my life." I opened her car
door then walked around and got in.  She scrambled half-way across the
console to grab me for a kiss.

   "It's the way it's supposed to be, Stoney.  All of a sudden there's a
man in my life that brightens my day when I see him.  I've never had that
before.  I looked, you know.  I tried.  Kept looking.  Even after that last
thing.  I knew deep inside that there's supposed to be one out there and I
knew I wasn't going to settle for less.  Not smart, not rich, not
good-looking, but the ONE."

   And hour later I was well-kissed, face washed, fresh shirt, and we were
on the way to the restaurant.

   "It'll be just like last time, except this time they know what you look
like."

   "Yeah, but I show up twice with their little girl, they're going to
think something's afoot," I said.

   Giggle.  "Like there isn't?"



   ------

   Chapter 12

   We were timing things and that's what kept us moving.  At my apartment
there was time for the washing of faces and brushing of teeth and then
there was a flurry of kisses and I'm not sure who initiated that but we
ended up in a knot on the sofa, hot, breathless and quite happily bothered.

   She was mostly on top of me, I was noticeably erect inside my jeans, and
she knew it.  I know she knew it.  She smiled, cradled my face between her
hands and kissed me, adding a wiggle to her snuggle that just had to be
intentional.

   "Stoney, there are people who expect us this evening." Kiss.  Wiggle. 
"And I love you and I love them and we shouldn't keep them waiting."

   I kept my smile and got up with an uncomfortable protrusion.  When I was
standing, she pulled me to her and insinuated her lithe form against me.  I
know she knew what was going on.

   "Jo," I started.

   "Don't say it, Stoney.  Do you think you're the only one in this room
who responds to stimuli?  Well, Mister Jackson, you're not." But she kept
herself against me.

   "As long as you realize that I am indeed male and you are a beautifully,
arousingly attractive female..."

   "Who is just a bit flattered and who enjoys the same feelings herself. I
think it's like looking at a menu."

   "As long as one of us doesn't get ravenous and charge into the kitchen,"
I said.

   She giggled.  "I don't worry about you, guy," she said softly.  "Let's
go meet Mom and Dad."

   People are starting to get used to seeing me and Jo.  She's easy to
remember.  Red hair like that isn't common, even if it comes from a bottle.
Jo's didn't, of course, but people can't tell that from a distance.  Still,
the two of us turn heads walking up the sidewalk.  We got in the car.

   "You don't have to drive all the time," she said.

   "I don't mind."

   "I don't either, but I just want you to know..."

   "I could sit here and gaze at you while you drive.  Watch the
expressions on your face."

   "You already watch me, Stoney."

   "Because you're beautiful and I'm falling..."

   She smiled.  "We're together on the way down, then.  Let's see if we can
maintain our sanity while we have dinner with the parents."

   "We can do that," I said.  "But away from the parents..."

   "We can do that, too," she said.

   "Your use of 'that' in your previous comment is imprecise and
ambiguous," I said.

   "You an astute listener, Stoney.  And I meant it just like I said it."
She giggled.  "Do you really want me to just come out and say that after we
eat dinner, I'm going back to your apartment and..."

   "And we'll tease each other senseless."

   "Stoney, I have a delicious glow going right now..." she smiled.

   I had to smile back.  "Me too.  I'll survive, I'm sure..."

   "We will survive.  Stoney, I'm ...  maybe I'm premature, but I think a
lot in terms of 'us'."

   I smiled.  "Thank, Jo.  I like being us."

   "Really?"

   "Very much so." I sighed.  "Jo, sometimes you come off as terribly self
-"assured, and then there's like now, that you seem scared."

   "I know, Stoney.  I'm trying really hard to level out.  It's you. 
You're real and you're nice and you're smart and you're decent and a few
weeks ago I wanted just to be your girlfriend and now we're going steady
and I really am falling."

   I smiled.  I felt good.  But I was worried that she was falling because
she wanted to be in love, that the idea of being in love was more important
than who she was in love with.  That would be bad for both of us, because I
was falling in love more and more each day, and if she was just enjoying
the feelings, then we could both end up hurt.  I'd been hurt before.  Jo
tells me she hasn't.  I don't want to be the guy that breaks the heart of
Johanna Solheim.

   This wasn't the time to get into it.  I wanted to have dinner with a
happy Jo and her parents.

   "Jo, we're new in this relationship.  We're trying to decide what it is
and where it's going, and on top of that, we've been friends for a while."
I took a breath.  "If you fall, I'll catch you."

   That last statement was made as I turned off the street into the crowded
parking lot of a little 'hole-in-the-wall' restaurant.  It was positioned
in one of those accursed strip mall developments that might make sense in a
climate other than the Texas Gulf Coast region, where six months out of the
year it didn't have the oppressive heat and humidity.  But it's autumn now
and actually quite pleasant.

   Okay, we did the 'holding hands' thing after we got past the door and we
found Jo's parents sitting at the bar waiting on a table.  After the usual
greetings, Jo's mom said, "Jo, while we're waiting on a table, let's you
and I go to the shop next door."

   Jo looked at me, gave a little shrug and said, "Sure, Mom.  Stoney and
Dad can survive for a few minutes without us."

   I wasn't quite as sure as she sounded, but I slid onto a barstool next
to her dad.

   "Would you be interested in a beer, Stoney?" he asked.

   "If you let me buy the next ones," I said.

   He smiled.  "If we are not finished by the time they return, I'll let
you do that," he said, smiling.

   "They're good, Jo.  Let's go see what's next door," Bridgette said.  Jo
gave me a little kiss on the cheek before she left.

   Anders watched that.  I experienced it.  He raised his beer like he was
saluting them as they left.  He smiled.  "There go my life's greatest
loves, Stoney.  I guess you understand that."

   "I do," I said.  "The way a man should be about his family."

   His expression turned a bit more serious.  "I don't worry about
Bridgette at all.  She's been the perfect wife, even through a couple of
bad deployments.  Jo, on the other hand..."

   "Is your daughter."

   "You know where I'm heading, don't you."

   "Yessir," I said.

   "She tells her mom much more than she tells me.  Of course her mom then
repeats it to me, suitably formatted to keep me from turning colors and
charging off, saber in hand."

   "She seems to me to be doing a pretty good job of taking care of
herself, so far.s Sir, If you..."

   "If you keep calling me 'sir' I'm gonna start calling you 'lieutenant'."

   "Okay, Anders," I said.  "If she was the archetypical college babe, you
and I would not be sitting here having this conversation.  That's not my
type."

   "Oh, you have a type?"

   "No, at least I didn't until I met your daughter.  I don't treat her
like an object.  She returns the favor.  She's intelligent and
level-headed. And pretty.  Lots of pretty.  But the first two come first."

   "She talks about you a lot.  My daughter calls us several times a week.
I like that.  And for the last few weeks there's been just one name that
comes up every time."

   "That's what her mom said, sort of."

   He smiled slightly.  "I know."

   "Anders, I am an honorable man.  I am not some guy running up a score or
whatever.  I didn't even do that when I was a college kid myself, and I
certainly am not doing it now, especially with Jo.  I couldn't live with
myself if I did."

   "I'm happy to hear you say it, Stoney," he said.

   "MY biggest worry is not that I'll do something to hurt her but that
she'll do something to hurt me."

   "What do you mean?"

   "Oh, come on, Anders!  You know what I mean.  It happens all the time:
two people connect for a while, then one of them just drifts off to greener
pastures or something."

   "You say you know Jo and you see in her something you find unusual among
her peers.  As her dad, I can tell you that I've spent a decade waiting for
her to turn into one of those horrible teens that seem to populate the
lives of my contemporaries.  It never happened.  Yes, she rebelled a bit. I
think it's because she thought she was supposed to.  She tested the
boundaries.  Bridgette and I did not relent.  Then that thing happened to
her in high school and I think it sort of reset her mind.  She got
serious."

   "Serious?  I can't remember her not smiling."

   "Yes, I know.  Beautiful.  Gets that from Bridgette.  Bridgette says
I've too much Viking in me and the only time I smile is when there's
looting and pillaging and mayhem afoot."

   "A perfectly fine characteristic for a colonel," I said.

   "And a typical observation for a lieutenant," he countered, smiling.  "I
wonder how you would have fared had you stayed in the Army.  You're a
serious engineer, Jo tells us, and I venture that you would have been a
more than competent officer."

   "Not saying it was wrong, just that as a lieutenant it was a scary thing
to unexpectedly find oneself in the presence of a colonel."

   "How does it feel to find yourself in the presence of the father of a
girl who tells us that she's in love with you?"

   "She told you that?!?!"

   "By the approved method of telling her mother," he said.  "She further
said that the sentiment was mutual.  Is that incorrect?"

   "No.  That's the point.  It's true from my side."

   "And it's true from her side.  Why would she lie about that?  My greater
fear here is that she misread your feelings."

   "It's kind of hard to misread 'I love you, Jo, ' don't you think?  But
neither of us is brave enough to offer suggestion as to where this is
heading for us."

   He smiled.  "Oh, I can imagine.  Her mother and I tiptoed around to the
point I was afraid I was going to get orders pulling me out of my cushy
position at the American Embassy in Oslo before I worked up the courage to
propose."

   "And apparently you found the courage."

   "Yes, I did.  With a set of orders in my possession that had me
returning to the States for my branch advanced course.  I did not want to
leave Bridgette behind.  There were many who had the same eyes I had for
the woman."

   "And twenty-odd years later..."

   "I still am surprised with whichever it is, my luck or my innate
intelligence that we ended up together."

   "I should be so lucky," I said.  "But we're talking about your daughter
here."

   "And my daughter has made it past her twenty-first birthday with no more
than a traffic ticket and a couple of skinned knees, is a few months from
graduating college with a double major and has no bad habits.  By the way,
why did you not mention the incident with her last boyfriend.  If you can
call him that.  They dated once."

   "Honestly, it didn't cross my mind the other night.  And if it had
crossed my mind, I don't know that I would have brought it up.  Most
fathers would get worried if their daughter was dating a guy who gets into
fights."

   "You know, Stoney, if I believe what my daughter says, you just
completely misrepresented your actions in that incident."

   "I understand, but it's a kinder, gentler world.  I don't want to appear
to be the dangerous type."

   "To me?  Or to her mom?"

   "Less you.  More of her mom."

   "She told the story to her mom first.  Bridgette's reaction was quite
positive.  You protected her child.  I concur with her assessment."

   "Wasn't much of a fight," I said.

   "That's what Johanna told us.  Still, you did not allow her to be
roughly handled.  I know you were aware of the risk to yourself."

   "The guy was, to lapse into the vernacular, fucked up on drugs and
alcohol, not that he knew what he was doing in the first place.  Wasn't
much risk."

   "I'm not talking about a physical risk, the police could've taken you in
along with the other three.  You're fortunate you had a good officer show
up.  Some of those are not so discerning."

   "You're right, of course.  Still, I was not going to stand by and let
him abuse Jo."

   That's when the cashier came to us to take us to our table.  I was
thankful for the little lull in the conversation.  We sat down, told our
waiter that we'd wait until the ladies came in before we ordered.  Anders
and I were nursing our beers.  We let the conversation swing around to
current events and were talking politics when the ladies showed up.

   "Stoney, lemme have the keys to your car.  I need to stow these bags,"
Jo said.

   "Oh, just set them next to your chair, dear," Bridgette said.  "Sit
down."

   Jo kissed my cheek before she sat.  "Didja miss me while I was gone?"
she smiled.

   "Of course I did."

   She eyed her dad.  "You weren't mean to Stoney, were you?"

   "He's still here, isn't he?"

   Dinner was pleasant, the conversation light.  I kept seeing Jo's eyes
questioning me.  I know she wanted to find out what her dad and I talked
about.  I wanted to find out what she and her mother shared.

   At the end of the evening Jo kissed her parents goodbye.  They promised
to be back in town in time to see her perform in a Veterans' Day concert
and to visit my apartment to hear Jo and I play together.  And they left.

   Jo slid into the seat of my car and we drove off.

   "Okay.  No you can tell me."

   "Tell you what?"

   "Don't play coy with me, Stonewall Jackson," she said.  "What did you
and Dad talk about?"

   "How you're his precious princess and if I hurt you he'll have me
killed. Slowly."

   "He didn't!" she squealed.

   I laughed.  "Maybe not in those exact words.  But he's your dad and he
loves you so all that other stuff is implied.  I didn't know you told them
about the fight with Dave."

   "Stoney, I want them to know exactly what kind of guy you are."

   "A testosterone-addled macho man?"

   "You are none of that.  So what did Dad say?"

   "I explained why I didn't make a big deal about it." I paused.  "So what
did you and your mom talk about?"

   "She very pointedly asked me if you and I had been to bed together.  I
actually think my mother was surprised when I told her I was yet a virgin."

   That comment hit me pretty hard.  Jo had said she hadn't been interested
in sex before, but for some reason I never translated that to the idea that
she was a twenty-one year old virgin.

   "Surprised?" I asked.

   "Yeah.  Then she dropped a bomb on me.  Stoney, Mom and I had The Talk,
of course.  But we never talked about her relationship with Dad.  We still
haven't, except for one little detail."

   "Uh..." Oh, yeah, I was curious, but I didn't see that showing it would
be the proper thing.

   "She was a virgin when she met Dad.  She wasn't by the time they got
married." She looked at me.  "She considers you to be a proper mate for
me." She paused to let that sink in.  "So what does my Stoney think of THAT
idea?"

   "Your Stoney has considered that idea more than a little bit," I said.
"SO that takes care of your mom and me.  What do you think?"

   "If I say 'yes', where are we, Stoney?"

   "A step further along than 'going steady'," I said.

   "Not the answer I'm looking for, Stoney.  Was it like a daydream?  I
daydreamed about it myself."

   "No, Jo, you're worth more consideration than a daydream.  Serious?"

   "Serious.  Not a fling.  I can't work myself into a fling."

   "I'm glad, Jo.  I don't 'fling' very well either.  Got burnt bad one
time."

   "You never told me that," she said.

   "Long story involving a dumbass and a woman."

   "You never told me.  I kind of surmised something dark in your past. 
You don't have to tell me."

   "No," I said.  "If it's gonna be you and me going forward together, I
don't want to keep things from you."

   "Save it for the apartment, then.  We'll pop a bottle of wine and talk."

   I thought about that a second.  "Are you sure?  Wine and sad stories are
a bad combination."

   "Remember when we started this Stoney?  I said I'm your friend and that
I would listen.  The wine is just a little social thing.  Coke'll work,
too."

   "Whichever you prefer.  That bottle of wine has been sitting in the rack
since I moved in.  I got it as a house-warming gift.  Frankly, that house
wasn't warm until you showed up."

   "You're sweet, Stoney.  I like the compliments."

   "I lack the vocabulary to tell you how I really feel."

   "You show me.  You tell me."

   "You're smart.  Talented.  Beautiful.  Compliments are easy." I squeezed
her hand.

   "Flattery will get you ...  me!"

   We pulled into my parking space at the apartment and walked towards the
door.  She tugged my hand, spinning me around into her waiting arms.

   "I desire to be kissed under the streetlights.  And next weekend, under
the stars."

   "Ah, next weekend.  We need to look at that." And I kissed her, then
hustled the two of us inside.

   "What about next weekend?"

   "Weather looks kind of iffy."

   "D'you have foul-weather gear?"

   "Yes," I said.  "But neither set is your size."

   "Too big?"

   "Uh-huh?"

   "I can deal with too big.  I am looking for an adventure.  Your boat has
a heater.  You're suspecting that we're getting an early cold front.  It
won't be bad.  At least not that cold."

   "You pay attention," I said.

   "Yep!  And I badly desire an adventure.  I think that you and I motoring
out to the middle of the bay and anchoring for the night just might be it."
She pushed me toward the kitchen.  "Two glasses.  Open bottle.  And we
talk. If you don't want to talk about that old love, then choose something
else, but we talk.  Stoney and Jo talk."

   "Yes we do." I opened the bottle of wine and poured two glasses.  She
took hers and I took mine and the bottle and we retired to the living room.
I put the bottle on the end table.

   "You sit first so I can see where I fit."

   I obediently sat down and let her position herself in my arms, her butt
in my lap where it produced an immediate reaction.

   "Stop that!" she squealed.

   "Believe me, sweetness, if I could, I would, but it has a mind of its
own."

   "I am glad to know that I do that."

   "Really?"

   "Really!  We have very normal reactions to each other, physically. 
That's a good sign."

   "I suppose.  We have bodies with primal urges."

   She lounged back against me, rubbing her red hair against my cheek like
a big cat.  "It's a deliciously GOOD bad feeling, isn't it, Stoney?"

   "I never thought of it, but yes, if there ever was an uncomfortable
situation that I enjoyed, getting all hot and bothered because I have an
angel in my lap would be it."

   "I'm not an angel."

   "You are."

   "I'm not.  You should've posed that thought to Mom and Dad."

   "You're an angel.  You're an ethereal beauty.  You make music that sings
of heaven.  You're a sane, grounded person.  No bad habits.  Angel."

   She rolled in my lap, setting her glass down, wrapping her arms around
my neck.  "You're wrong.  I do have a bad habit."

   "Yeah?"

   She kissed me long and hot.  "You.  You're my habit, rabbit."

   "From my vantage point, that's not a BAD habit."

   "Oh, but it is, Stoney.  Very, very bad." She picked up her glass,
emptied it.  Kissed again.  Sighed.  "I am losing my resolve.  All the
things that were so easy because guys were just, like, icky, it's changed.
I find myself in the arms of Mister Randall Stonewall Jackson and he's the
most decidedly not icky guy imaginable." Kiss.  "So what's the story with
Stoney and the woman who wrecked him?'

   I had to chuckle.  "Extra points to Jo for the set-up!" I thought she'd
move.  She didn't move.  Remained right here in easy kissing distance, a
very disturbing location for the story I had to tell.

   "She was a temp, a CAD monkey."

   "CAD.  That's computer-aided design?"

   "Yeah.  From time to time we get someone in to help with projects."

   "How old was she?"

   "Two years younger than me."

   "What'd she look like?"

   "Pretty enough.  Brown hair.  Brown eyes.  Not fat, but juicy."

   "Is that a preference?"

   "What?"

   "Juicy.  Plump."

   "No.  I just didn't make a difference.  She was funny.  Acerbic wit."

   "But plump, and no red hair."

   "I held neither of those against her.  We hit it off right up front.  I
thought I was tumbling and she was there with me.  I was wrong.  Two
months. And when the job ended, so did she.  I tried to keep it going, but
she just liked having a thing going with somebody she worked around."

   "She was playing and you were serious."

   "Apparently."

   "And you got hurt and you did your engineering 'cause and effect' thing
and decided that if you eliminated the source of THAT problem, you'd head
off future problems."

   "I guess."

   "And then one day you told a flute player that she was playing a
clarinet part." Kiss.

   "Uh-huh." Kiss back.

   "And so we both jumped the fence that's been keeping us safe." Another
kiss.

   "Jo," I said, "I love you.  Because of so many things you appear to be.
And so many things you're not."

   "You're safe with me, Stoney.  I didn't even have a thing until I met
you.  I didn't have a type.  I didn't have a set of specifications.  And I
certainly wasn't looking for a thirty-something engineer.  And yet, here we
are.  And I like it."

   "Me too.  More wine."

   Giggle.  "Yeah.  We need to kill the bottle."

   I poured us each another glass.  "I'll have to tell the guy that his
bottle of wine finally did warm the house."

   "And you'll have to get another bottle or two." She sipped her glass and
sat it down on the table again.  Kissed.  She slowly pushed me back flat on
the sofa and we intertwined together.  Before long, our hands were getting
bravely exploratory on each other and she ended up on top of me.

   "Stoney..." Kiss.  "We need to cool off."

   "Either we cool off or..."

   "Cool off.  Not now.  Not tonight." She buried her face into my chest.
Bit me.  "Dammit!"

   We each took a deep breath.

   Oh yes, I wanted to.  Badly.  But I wasn't going to push the situation.
This is my Jo we're talking about.

   "So let's plan this boat trip," I said.



   ------

   Chapter 13

   We came up with a plan pretty quick.  After all, this wasn't Columbus
looking for the Spice Islands.  We planned a menu.  Talked about what would
happen if the weather cratered on us.

   "We can stay home."

   "No," she said.  "I don't have a home.  Key's, well ...  there's this
guy she's been seeing and I told her that she'd have the place to herself.
Which likely means she won't be by herself.  And I get very uncomfortable
with the idea of a guy staying in my apartment."

   "Oh."

   "So I'm your responsibility, Mister Stoney.  And I think we go, rain or
shine.  If it's too gusty to sail, we can motor.  But we go.  Didn't you
say you had two foul weather suits?"

   "Yeah.  But they're both my size.  It'll be like a tent on you."

   "I can make it work for the couple of hours it might take to get us out
there.  Your heater and stove?  You have propane?"

   "Yes.  Two bottles.  Enough for a summer with the stove.  A week with
the heater."

   "Then we'll be warm and we can cook.  Are you cooled off?"

   I guess I looked puzzled.

   "From earlier.  Gosh, Stoney, you get me..."

   "Jo, you're just a delight," I said.

   "I'm glad to be your delight.  Get your banjo.  We need to practice."

   And practice we did.  My fingers were developing a better connection to
my eyes.  Jo's sheet music for the harp part of a Mozart concerto was a
giant step up from my normal 'three chords' routine on a banjo, but I had
toyed with scales and such and wasn't entirely lost when I started.  Now,
trying to keep up with somebdy who was a featured soloist in a university
orchestra, that was stretching me.  And like a good stretching routine, it
was paying off.

   Under her tutelage I was getting over that amateur failure of coming to
a dead stop when I flubbed a note.  Now I was sensing them and moving right
past, staying up with Jo as she played almost from memory.  I was even
confident enough on some passages to look up at her as she sat across from
me.  And when I looked up, there was the girl that had captured me from the
first time I saw her, the blue-eyed redhead with a permanent smile.

   "Second passage," she said.  "And pay attention to the transition from
harp to flute lead."

   "Hai, sensei," I said.

   "One, two..." and we were off.  And I didn't miss a note.  I even
embellished a bit, where I'd been substituting quarter and half-notes for
the harp arpeggios in the original score, I saw where I could toss in some
bluegrass banjo rolls that had, at least in my mind, a similar sound.  I
saw a flash in her eyes the first time I did that.  This time it worked. 
Just worked.

   When we ended it, she sat her flute down and jumped on me, smothering me
with kisses, giggling.  "You're everything, Stoney.  Everything!  Gosh, I
love you!"

   "I love you too, Johanna.  I get this for playing without mistakes?"

   Giggle and a headshake.

   "That's what I call incentive."

   I didn't want to take her home this night.

   We ate dinner together, she spent evenings with me studying, and yes, we
got more music in and more kissing and I got more time in the shower
relieving an astonishing amount of pressure.

   During the week, though, the trip moved from a Saturday to Sunday jaunt
to "Let's leave after my last class on Friday.  Can you get out of work
early?"

   I had some comp time on the books, so that's what I did, and at
one-thirty I was at her door.  Missed Key.  She has a Friday afternoon
class.  I shouldered Jo's gym bag and we walked to the car, hand in hand.
An hour later we were at dockside, loading up.  The skies were turning the
color of lead and a southerly wind was gusty and heavy with moisture.

   "I don't think we'll beat the rain," I said.  "Let's get the car locked
up.  Let me get the engine started so it can warm up on the boat first."

   With the wind pushing us at an uncomfortable angle to the docks, I let
her handle the release of the last dockline as I held a slight pull with
the engine, and we were off on the adventure, Jo sitting in the cockpit
beside me.  That part was good.  The first drops of rain weren't.  Jo
scurried below and came up ridiculously dressed in oversized foul-weather
gear.  "Let me take the helm while you go change."

   "Keep the center of the channel," I said.  "There's no traffic." And I
went below.  Presently I was out and the wind was still gusty and the rain
was steady, blowing in stinging drops.  I looked at Jo.  She had her jacket
buttoned and zipped and cinched up leaving only the bright eyes and pert
nose exposed.

   She giggled.  "Whose bright idea was this?"

   I was catching it worse because she could turn her back to the wind and
rain.  I was facing it.  "Oh, I dunno," I said.  "Some nutcase who has the
power to make me do crazy things, I guess."

   We cleared the channel and got out into the bay and it got worse, the
wind being unhindered by buildings and land.  The shallow bay was rough
with a crazy chop.  A smaller boat would've been in trouble, but mine saw
two and three-foot chop as insignificant.  Still, the wind worked on my
bare mast and the boat wanted to head off into inopportune directions.  We
were still constrained by the keel under the boat until we were a mile away
from shore.  I saw the channel marker I was waiting for and made my turn,
putting my bow dead into the wind.  That took care of the problem with the
boat wanting to veer off.

   We motored on.  I was headed to a spot that had a good bottom for
anchoring and was far enough away from the main ship channel with its wakes
from ocean-going ships.  I throttled back the engine to put us at almost a
stop.

   "Hold the bow into the wind and let me set the anchor," I said.

   "Okay.  Be careful going forward," she said.

   I went to the bow, opened the anchor locker and picked my biggest
anchor, made it fast to the rode and dropped it over the side.  I yelled,
"Put the engine in neutral!"

   "Got it!" came the reply.

   As we drifted back, pushed by the wind, I fed the anchor rode out
slowly, keeping tension on it to keep the bow into the wind.  In fifteen
feet of water I let out twenty feet of chain and a hundred feet of one-inch
nylon line, then cleated it off.  I could feel the deck beneath my feet
take a little dip as the anchor dug in.  It was set.

   I clambered back to the cockpit.  "Let's get below," I said.

   "Oh, you don't have to tell me that twice," she said.  We had no more
than closed the companionway hatch when the REAL rain hit, bringing with it
a severe wind shift.

   "Let me go on deck and make sure we don't foul the anchor.  We're gonna
swing big time now."

   "Be careful," she said.  "I'm putting water on for something warm."

   "Be careful," I said.

   The wind shift wasn't as sharp as I worried about.  We swung almost a
hundred eighty degrees, though, but when I tugged at the anchor rode, it
was taut.  Still set.  "We're good," I said to myself.  That was a good
thing.  The temperature was dropping fast.  From the sticky dampness of the
south wind, the shift around to the north brought a raw cold with it.

   Something warm was below and she was at the stove.  I went below.  "I'm
gonna light the heater," I said.  "The wind changed to the north.  It's
gonna get cold fast."

   I looked at her in the dim cabin light.  "You're wet."

   "Just a little," she said.  "You are, too."

   "Water's gonna boil soon.  Got tea.  And sandwiches.  Go change."

   I went to the master cabin and changed.  When I came out, she had her
bag.  "My turn." Five minutes later she was in a comfy although
amorphous-looking sweatsuit and two huge mugs of tea were steeping.  I was
laying out sandwich fixings, cheese, salami, brown bread.

   "And butter.  Very european, you know," she'd said when we talked about
provisioning for the trip.

   "I know about German ham sandwiches.  Schinkenbrot.  I loved 'em."

   "We'll do something like that, then."

   And so we did.  The tea chased off the chill from the inside out and the
little cabin heater worked from the outside in.  And blue eyes and red hair
and a smile?  Made me warm all over.

   She reached for her flute case.  "You can get your banjo," she said. 
"But we're not doing anything intense.  Let's just make music together and
relax."

   "Okay, we can do that," I said as I went to the locker that held the
banjo.  We sat at opposite ends of the settee.

   "Gimme a D," she said.  I did, and we tuned together, then she launched
into a slow, plaintive piece.  I played along softly, taking my cues from
her fingerings.

   "Good warmup, don't you think?" she smiled.  "I love having a partner to
play with.  Key and I played a lot, but with you, when I get happy, I can
stop and kiss you."

   "And I appreciate every one of 'em," I said.

   "As do I.  I like kissing, but I'm not into doing it for the sake of
doing it.  But with you, the recreational aspects fit right in with the two
of us being, well, us."

   "I'm thinking of this as 'us' too, Jo."

   "It's kind of crazy," she said.  "Are we courting, Stoney?"

   "Courting?"

   "You know, seeing each other, learning, measuring, deciding about a
future together."

   "Yes, I think I've been doing that.  A couple of dates is recreational
to me.  I've done a few of those.  But past that, there's too much
emotional capital in play.  I just haven't seen anybody that I wanted to
let myself go with." I noted she was gently setting her flute aside. 
"Until you."

   She came across the distance between us.  I opened my arms to gather her
to me.  "I ...  You and I, we're the same.  I thought I was abnormal.  I
sort of forced myself to give it a try with David.  That was a disaster.  I
pulled out of the game.  Until you came along.  And I let my guard down. 
And now..."

   "And now we're being too serious," I said.  If she was going to push for
something, I was going to make her at least push a bit harder.

   "Stoney, you're the first guy I have said I loved since junior high. 
The first one I've REALLY REALLY kissed, not because I wanted to see what
kissing was like, but because I wanted to meld with you in some way.  It
means something to me that I kind of understand, but I'm afraid to
announce. It's kind of like watching bubbles in the sunlight.  They're
shimmering and beautiful and alive and dynamic and you want to possess that
beauty, but if you so much as touch one..."

   Okay, I can handle that metaphor.  "Okay, sweet beautiful Johanna..."

   "Stoney, when you say my name like that, I start melting inside."

   "You're my perfect, shimmering, beautiful rainbow kaleidoscope bubble,
and I've gently caught you in my palm.  If I move too fast, too much..."

   She kissed me, pressing me back on the cushion.

   "No.  I won't pop.  Where's this going, Stoney?"

   "There're several paths from right here, my Johanna," I said.  I took a
deep breath.  "Will you marry me?"

   "Are you sure, Stoney?" she asked.  "Am I pushing you?"

   "You're not pushing me, and yes, I am sure."

   "Then I will marry you.  It's the way we're destined to be.  You have to
know that I've been thinking about this."

   "Me too.  But it's too soon.  At least that's what I kept telling
myself."

   "So did I," she said softly.  "But I ...  why should we wait?  We're not
stupid people who do it wrong."

   "Do it wrong?"

   "Yes," she said.  "They bounce in and out of love and in and out of bed
and then date for months before they decide to get married, if they ever
do. I found you and found my magic.  I haven't been in anybody's bed and I
haven't really been in love and I know this is it and I think it's silly to
wait."

   "So when?" I asked.

   "When what?" she countered.

   "When do we get married?"

   "After the fall semester?  Is that too soon?"

   "Tomorrow wouldn't be soon enough," I said.

   "I know," she replied.  "But I need to do this with my parents.  I might
be twenty-one, but I will forever be the daughter of Anders and Bridgette."

   "It's the honorable thing to do," I said.

   "You're completely serious about this." She fixed me in the gaze of
those blue eyes.  "Stoney, I don't think you play games."

   "I don't," I said.  "Especially with you, precious."

   "If I really thought you did, I wouldn't be here," she said.

   "Me neither," I said.  And I kissed her.  We stayed bonded together,
arms, legs tangled, tugging, long, hot kisses, little happy ones, hers on
my face and neck driving me insane and mine leaving her almost out of
breath.

   Finally she sat back, breathing heavily.  "Stoney.  I have to take a
break.  D'ya mind?"

   My head understood.  The rest of my anatomy didn't, not a bit.  I took a
deep, cleansing breath.  "Yeah, we'd better."

   She disassembled her flute and put it in its case.  "Stoney, if you're
serious about this..."

   "I've never been more serious in my life, Jo."

   "Then forgive me, but I want to call Mom."

   "Well, at least I have another twenty-four hours to live.  Your dad
can't come kill me while we're out here."

   "Dad approves of you.  He approves of you as my boyfriend.  Quite happy,
actually.  Even the difference in our ages." She picked her phone out of
her backpack and started punching, held it to her ear.  "Hi, Mom!"

   Jo scooted next to me, putting her phone between our two heads so I
could listen in.

   "Mom, I have something to tell you."

   "I cannnot imagine what you're going to tell me this time, Jo,"
Bridgette said.

   "I don't know how much of a shock this may be to you, Mom, but I want to
get married."

   Bridgette has a wry sense of humor that I detected in the two meals we'd
shared.  "That is a perfectly normal sentiment, Jo.  Every young girl
wishes to get married."

   "No, Mom," Jo said.  "I AM going to get married."

   "Are you trying to tell me that you've found somebody?  Who, pray tell?"

   "The stock boy at the corner grocery store, Mom!"

   "Whewww!" Bridgette said.  "I was so afraid it was that horrid Mr. 
Jackson."

   "Mooo-oommmm!  Of course it's Stoney!"

   Her mom squealed, "Oh, sweetness, that's good!  No, that's great!"

   "Mom, he wants to formally ask Dad."

   "I assume that would be so.  Your Stoney is a proper young man."

   "Can you get Dad to the phone?" Jo asked.  "Assuming you're really okay
with this."

   "Anders, my dear, please come talk to our daughter," I heard Bridgette
say loudly.

   "Thanks, Mom," Jo said.

   "Hello, Princess," her dad said.  "Your mother is really smiling.  Am I
to assume good news?"

   "Yes, Dad.  Here's Stoney.  He has something to ask you." She turned the
phone towards me.

   "Hello, Mr.  Solheim," I said.

   "Hello, Stoney," he replied.  "I assume that you have something to do
with the grin on my wife's face and the lilt in my daughter's voice."

   "Jo always has a lilt in her voice and your wife seems to be a happy
person," I said, " but yes, I may be a contributor."

   "So what's the occasion?"

   I took a deep breath.  This was, after all, new ground for me.  "SIr," I
said formally, "I would like your permission to marry your daughter."

   "Stoney, you have my permission.  My blessing.  My assent.  My
agreement. Sell your beeswax stocks though.  Her mom can now stop burning
candles in the church over Johanna's future."

   "Thank you, sir," I said.

   "Anders, Stoney," he said.  "Or I'll start calling you 'son' right now."

   "Dad," Jo said.  "I'm here."

   "Jo," Anders said, "this had better be as serious to you as your music.
You were not raised to think that marriage is other than forever."

   "Yes, Dad," she said.  And Dad?"

   "Yes, sweetness?"

   "Does Mom still have that DVD of Prince William's wedding?"

   "As a matter of fact, yes she does.  I shall see that she gives it to
you when you elope." I detected a hint of a snicker in his voice. 
Apparently Jo missed it.

   "Dad, we're not eloping.  When we get married, you and Mom will, MUST be
there.  It happens no other way."

   "Yes, my dear daughter," he said.  "I will leave the planning thereof to
you and your mother."

   "I love you Dad," she said.

   "I love you as well, Johanna my daughter.  And I am proud and happy with
your choice of husband."

   "Thank you, Dad.  That means a lot.  Hug Mom for me."

   "Oh, I will likely do more than hug her.  She's practically dancing a
jig right now.  I may have to dance with her."

   "Uh-huh," Jo said.  "Bye Dad!"

   "Bye, Jo."

   She hit the disconnect button and tossed the phone to the end of the
settee, turning to me.  There was a glint in her eye and she was smiling
broadly.  She squealed and propelled herself into my arms.  "Mine!  Stoney
Jackson, you're forever mine!"

   "All that's left is getting married," I said.

   "Yes," she smiled.  "But it's gonna happen.  She batted her eyelashes at
me.  "You wouldn't break my heart now, would you?"

   "No way.  I love you, little one."

   "Nor will I," she said.  "I will be faithful and devoted to you
forever."

   Something struck me as to the gravity of the delivery of those words.  I
felt compelled to reply in kind.  "Johanna, I will be faithful and devoted
to you forever."

   Her eyes widened.  "Do you realize what we just did?"

   I looked at her questioningly.

   "We just got married.  In some societies, we're completely validly
married.  We've announced our intentions to our families, well, at least MY
family.  And we've exchanged vows."

   "You took one too many sociology courses, Jo."

   She smiled.  "You know it's true."

   She twisted around, leaning back in my arms, knowing that I was
compelled to nuzzle and kiss her red hair.  She took my hands in hers and
tugged my arms around herself.  I like this arrangement.  I've been here
before with Jo.  It felt right, wonderful, the first time.  Even better
now. Normally, she keeps my fingers interlaced with hers.  She wiggled her
butt a little pushing backward in my lap and pulled my hands atop her ...
breasts.  Delectable, desirable, firm yet oh so pliant perfectly small
breasts.

   "Mmmmmm," she said.  "Since we're sort of married, it's okay for you to
excite me, isn't it?"

   I didn't have enough blood supply to say no.  I just flexed my fingers,
feeling the firm flesh through her sweatshirt.  She purred.  "I am not
forcing you," I said.

   "No, Stoney, you're not.  I am forcing YOU.  Well, really encouraging
you.  It feels better than I imagined, just so you know."

   "I didn't bring you out here to seduce you.  I love you and I would not
take advantage of you."

   "I love you too," she said.  "And I am not being seduced.  I am being
loved."

   "Okay," I said.  "I love you.  And god knows, I love this." I gave a
gentle squeeze to the two breasts in my hands.  "But you set the limits."

   "Then let me turn around so I can kiss you." She did that and in pushing
me backward she fitted herself tightly against me.  Our normal situation
would have been with one of her legs in between mine.  She changed that.  I
was being straddled.  Happily straddled by a delightful, smiling redhead.
She giggled, grinning.  "You don't think that I realize exactly what I'm
doing, Stoney?"

   "Do you?" I asked.  She ground her crotch against my obvious erection in
answer.

   And giggled when I twitched.  "Did I ever tell you definitively that I
am a virgin, Stoney?"

   "You never came right out and said it in those words."

   "Well, I am.  I have never been penetrated by a guy in my life.  I will
admit to a couple of my own fingers.  Nobody else's.  I also own an
appliance."

   "An appliance?"

   "I call it that because it sounds not quite as depraved as admitting to
owning a dildo." She caught that questioning expression I showed.  "Mom
told me about the birds and the bees.  She was a good Catholic girl. 
Waited until her wedding night.  Except she said what she called her
wedding night wasn't the day they stood in front of the priest.  She said
that she considered her wedding night to be the night that they announced
they'd chosen one another.  Anyway, Stoney, that night she found out that
she had an abnormally stout hymen.  My loving mother advised me to prepare
myself so that my first time would be good.  She also advised me that the
first time should be with the one who I would spend the rest of my life
with." She tapped my forehead with her fingertip.  "Is this sinking in?  Or
am I being too graphic?  Or too subtle?"

   "I'm trying to figure out what it is you want," I said.

   She said one word: "You!"

   "Heaven help us, Jo, but you've got me."

   She flopped down on top of me.  This time, I pulled her into me.  My
turn to purr.  "Oh, babyyyyyy," I moaned.

   She stifled my moan with a kiss.  When it broke, she focused her eyes on
me.  "Me.  You.  Alone.  In a boat.  All night." Giggle.

   "All night," I said, and then the one responsible neuron left with its
own blood supply in my brain fired off.  "Oh, crap!" I said.

   She looked shocked.  Oh, gosh, Stoney!  What?"

   "It's dark.  We're anchored.  I forgot to turn on the anchor light."

   "Then for heaven's sake, do it!" she got off me and let me up.  It
wasn't a big deal.  The switch is at the navigation station, a big term for
a little angled desktop.  There's a panel full of switches above and behind
it.  I flicked the anchor light switch, then opened the companionway to
make sure the light was lit.  I confirmed the light was working.  I also
confirmed that the wind shift from the frontal passage had dropped the
temperature and the little cabin heater was going to take a while to get
the cabin temperature back up.

   "Kinda cold," Jo said.

   "Kinda hang on," I said.  I pulled a blanket off the berth in the main
cabin, tossed it around the two of us.  "Better?"

   "It was better like it was before you remembered the anchor light," she
said.  "Lay back."

   Okay.  I can take orders.  This time, though, her hands slid up
underneath my sweatshirt.  She watched me to see if I was going to protest.
I didn't.  "Getting awfully brave," I said.

   "Just wanted to ...  Oh, I don't know what I want, Stoney.  Spending
time with you had awakened something." She propped herself up.  That put
her at an angle where I could easily, well, I could find out if she ...  I
just reached up and gently cupped the mounds on her chest, halfway
expecting protest.  I got purrs.

   "Beautiful," I said.

   "You don't know that, Stoney.  You've never seen 'em."

   "They feel beautiful," I said.  She scooted a bit, rubbing herself
against my erection, biting her bottom lip.

   "Let's see," she said.  She sat back, throwing the blanket off us and
grabbed the hem of her sweatshirt.  One smooth athletic motion and it came
off over her head in an explosion of red hair.  "Why don't we move this
forward to the cabin.  I'm afraid we're gonna fall off this thing and hurt
ourselves."

   I got up with her.  She was still wearing her characteristic jeans, but
from the waist up, only a sports bra.  I was going to bed with Johanna. 
Yes, I had dreamed, fantasies abound.  And here we were, and neither of us
was drunk.  She turned to face me, hanging her thumbs in her jeans'
waistband.

   "Let me," I said.

   She wrapped her arms around my neck, fastened her mouth to mine,
intruding upon me with her tongue as my fingers unsnapped her jeans, pulled
the zipper down, then gently slid them over the swell of her hips.  I
allowed my hands to travel over the curve of her ass, pushing the jeans
down.  Our lips parted.  "Now you," she said.

   In a flash I was as she was, down to my shorts and was being enticed
into bed by her as she lay on her side.  We slid together, scantily clad
flesh touching in ways that caused tactile flashes to course through my
being.

   "Are we still sane, Stoney?" she asked.

   "Yes, my Johanna," I said.  "I am madly in love with you."



   ------

   Chapter 14

   The old boat had been, from the day I brought her home and made her
mine, a refuge.  Yes, there were days that I brought friends along, but
mainly the boat was where I went when I wanted to get away from the world.
Now I was on her, and I was clothed only in my boxers and before me,
beckoning, was Jo, in my mind the epitome of red-headed perfection, herself
clad only in hip-hugger panties and a dark blue sports bra.

   And she was beautiful.  Absent any light from the skylight hatch, we had
a little electric cabin light on.  "Come here, Stoney.  Lay with me." In
the dim light, my mind filled out the details, the blue eyes, how red that
hair was in the sunlight, rendered brown in the dim cabin.  I was adding
new details like the exact curve of her waist, the perfect rounded butt,
the legs, the long, athletic legs.  I crawled in towards her, intent on
taking this slowly.

   My beautiful mate had other ideas.  I was wrapped up and dragged against
her, her right leg thrown over mine, pulling me into complete contact.  I
couldn't talk.  My lips were occupied.  So were her hands.

   "Stoney, I've never seen you in shorts except that one time.  You have
strong legs.  Muscular." Her hands emphasized her observation.  "And I am
not the only one to notice that you have a great butt." Her hands tracing
my butt caused a surge in my groin.

   Giggle.  "I felt that."

   "Johanna ...  My lovely Johanna..." My hands at first cradled her head,
then slid down her back, relishing the bare, youthful skin, ending up,
naturally, on the curve of that delectable ass.

   She moaned into my mouth as we kissed.  Our lips parted.  "Touch me,
Stoney.  You are the one to touch me.  Everywhere."

   I squeezed the curved cheeks of her ass.  A little "Mmmm" came through
the kiss.  She did the impossible, pulling us together even tighter.  I
felt my erection pushing against a warm mound, the heat penetrating two
layers of fabric.  She felt it too, and moaned gently.  One soft,
exploratory hand disappeared from my butt.  Reappeared between us, pushing
its way downward.

   When it reached the almost inevitable destination, when I felt HER
fingers touch my straining erection, it was more than I could stand.  I
came.  Pulsing, jetting, throbbing, I came.  While I was coming, I let a
little whimper escape my being, through our kiss.  She pulled back.  "Oh,
Stoney ...  You ...  You ...  I..."

   "OHGOD, Jo, yes I did.  I'm sorry.  All this is more than I can stand.
You don't understand how much I adore you, Jo.  Intellect, talent ...  and
you're the single most beautiful woman on the planet.  This was
inevitable."

   "I ...  Stoney, I'm not experienced.  Is that good or bad?"

   I kissed her.  "Good.  Just more good than this mortal is able to
stand."

   "We ...  I can stop."

   "Nooooo, little angel.  But I have a mess."

   Giggle.  "I feel it.  You weren't supposed to do that there."

   "Kiss me again, then I have to clean this mess up."

   She kissed me.  I rolled backward away from her and stood, the front of
my boxers a sticky, sodden mess.  I retrieved a clean pair from my knapsack
and started towards the head.

   "Don't," she said.

   "Huh?"

   "Don't put those on.  I'm being terribly brave and I don't want you to
put those on.  Clean up and dry off and come back here."

   I snagged the plastic tub with that new yachtsman's sanitary necessity,
baby wipes, and cleaned myself up.  When I turned, Jo's feet were in the
air and she was sliding her panties up her lovely legs.

   "Jo?"

   "Hush, Stoney!  I'm trying to parse all this right now.  This is going
down in my memories as so many things and it is so strange and so
absolutely perfect.  You can never sell this boat because it is here, our
honeymoon suite, that we become one."

   "If that does not in fact happen, I intent to throw myself overboard,
redhead," I said as I crawled in beside her.  I had planned another session
of the two of us lying on our sides facing each other.  Wrong again.

   As I crawled in, she slid herself under me, trapping me between a pair
of thighs for which poems should be penned.  She shifted to make sure that
the appropriate parts contacted one another and we held on to each other in
embrace.  Kissed.  We ground against each other, my dick sliding along
between hot wet labia in a way that I never had experienced before.

   I am not inexperienced.  I actually lived with a girl on one assignment
when I was in the Army.  Even thought we were in love.  I knew about sex.
Comparing that to this was like comparing a picture of a storm to standing
out in it, having the winds buffet, the rain beat, the thunder shake.

   I raised up a little, and Jo shifted underneath me.  The safe slide
between the lips was about to change as I felt the head of my dick catch in
her opening.  Her eyes widened and I thought about pulling back but her
mouth opened.  "Stoney, I love you." And she pushed her hips upward.  I
took that as a cue and met her motion with my own.  Hot.  Wet.  Tight.

   "Oh, Stoney..." she sighed.

   "Are you okay, Johanna?"

   "Very much so.  Please..." Her hips punctuated her request.  No, this
wasn't some variety of animalistic humping.  I'd dreamed of Jo for weeks
and I wanted to love her body.  We arched into each other, connecting,
merging, mating, in the most physical and spiritual senses of the word. 
Each stroke put an "mmmmm" or an "ooohhhhh" in my ears.

   "Stoney ...  It's ...  you're ...  we're ...  wonderfulllllll"

   "My Johanna," I breathed.  "My perfect, lovely Johanna..." That previous
surprise orgasm was a blessing in many ways, the most obvious one being
that I had half a chance of lasting more than twelve seconds in paradise.
Her hip movement took on an insistent tempo, like she was searching for
something.  I made an adjustment and a sigh and a hard grind told me that
she was where she wanted to be.

   "Oh.  Stoney.  I'm.  Just.  Right.  Theeeeeere!  Nnnnnnngggghhhhhh!"

   And I came again.  This time I was deep into a place I was made for.

   In the afterglow we were still intertwined.  "I love you, Stoney.  And
it's wonderful between us."

   "I love you, Johanna.  And it truly is."

   She pulled my face to hers and kissed me.  "And always will be."

   "Yes, my love."

   "Stoney, I'm glad it's you."

   "What's me?"

   "You that is the first man to make love with me.  Because I will never
love another, you'll be the only one."

   "And you will be the only one, from this day forward.  And the thought
makes me very happy, Jo."

   "Good," she said.  "And you love me very much?"

   "Yes, I do."

   "Enough to do something about this huge cold wet spot we made?"

   "This is a heck of a time to discover you're deceitful, right after I
seal my life with yours," I said.

   She giggled.  "Not deceitful, practical."

   Add two towels to the laundry I'd haul away from our weekend.

   She was holding the blanket up to her chin.  "Chilly in here."

   "I can turn the heater up."

   "No," she said.  "You get under here with me.  You're the engineer.  You
know all about friction."

   I dove under the blankets with her.  In a matter of minutes it was a
twisted pile at our feet as we went at each other.  Jo's eagerness was like
a dam-burst and for myself, well, it had been a very long time since I
thought of a woman as ...  correction ...  I'd never thought of a woman as
I found Jo.

   After the third round for the evening we finally curled unfamiliarly in
each other's arms and let sleep overcome us.

   In the wee hours of the morning I sat up with a start, the dream too
real.  Again.  Seconds passed before I regained senses enough to ...  a
soft hand touched me.  "Stoney?"

   "Jo," I said softly, "I'm sorry..."

   "Is this what happens?"

   "What?"

   "When it comes back?"

   "I don't know why ...  Why, on this night, of all nights, I don't know
why..."

   "Can I hold you, love?"

   "Of course, Jo." She slid up to a sitting position beside me, wrapping
me in her arms.

   "You're mine, Stoney.  I'm yours.  I'm here for you." She eased her lips
to mine, eyes bright, caring, and I couldn't help but respond.  My own arms
wrapped her in return, pulling her to me.

   "Is it better this way, Stoney?  With me here?"

   "Yes, it's better."

   "You're sweating."

   "I know."

   "You could open the companionway for a minute, cool off."

   I unwrapped from her, and for the first time I saw Johanna standing,
nude, in the dim light of a full moon coming through the little cabin
portholes.  It was dim light, to be sure, and shadows played enticingly
over her form.

   "Beautiful," I said.

   "Come on, let's cool off," she smiled, taking my hand.  Gingerly we made
our way through the cabin.  I opened the hatch to the cockpit, felt a
cleansing cascade of cool air, even cold, on my bare skin.  The light of
the full moon flowed inward.  "Go up.  Out."

   "No clothes, baby.  I'm naked."

   "Nobody out there for miles, Stoney.  Me and you in the moonlight."

   I ascended the little ladder, turned, took her hand and helped her out.
What I saw evoked almost primal memories from deep in ancestral blood. 
Naked in the moonlight, she turned, stretched, the moonlight barely showing
the red of her hair, the cool light glinting off alabaster skin.  An angel.
An ethereal being come down to earth.  A forest nymph.  A dryad.  No, we
were on the water.  A siren.  Nothing mortal could explain what I saw
before me.

   "Stoney, you're not saying anything."

   "Johanna, you are the most beautiful creature I have ever imagined."

   "And quickly becoming one of the coldest.  Hold me, Stoney."

   I pulled her in against me, her skin cool, dry, and we embraced, clad
only in the moonlight.  I kissed her.

   "Randall Jackson, under the light of this moon, I wed myself to you,"
she said gravely.

   "By the same moon, I take you, Johanna Solheim, as my wife and give
myself to you only."

   "Then it's done," she said.  "In a very old way.  We have mated.  We
have sworn under the light of the moon.  We can go fill out a government
form somewhere and get a functionary to log us into a public record.  But
make no mistake about it, my husband, we are married."

   In the moonlight her face was beautiful and deadly serious.  "I
understand it no other way, dearest wife."

   She shivered.  "Are you cooled off?"

   "Most of me, I think."

   She looked around, the moonlight glinting off the wind-blown chop.  "Get
us blankets.  This is too beautiful to give up right away." In a flash I
returned with the blankets and wrapped the two of us as we sat in the
cockpit.

   "Jo, angel, I love you."

   "That's good, Stoney," she said, "Considering that you're my husband."

   "So who's gonna know this upon our return to civilization?" I asked.

   "Everybody."

   "About being engaged?  Or being married?"

   She put her hand on my cheek.  "Stoney ...  I'm serious about this. 
Married."

   "Move in with me.  We tell everybody.  Get rings.  Let 'em think we
planned it and eloped, thus making you a beautiful young widow when your
father hunts me down and kills me."

   "He won't do that.  Remember, love of my life, that my parents approve
of you."

   "Uh, that was when they thought we were just getting engaged."

   "I am their only daughter.  I have been the proverbial 'good girl' all
my life.  I have not paraded a bunch of guys in front of them.  Just you. I
think I can make this work."

   "Why don't we tell them that we are going to get married at a Justice of
the Peace next weekend?"

   "Why don't we tell them we got married THIS weekend in the old way?  Mom
used to tell me the folk tales and the oral history stuff.  She was raised
Catholic, but she's got a strong undercurrent of the old ways in her."

   "What about your dad?"

   "Dad dotes on Mom.  And me.  And he will be happy.  And we can make it
official at our leisure." She pressed me back against the coaming and
administered a kiss that fairly made me glow.  She sighed, said softly,
"Stoney, when I was a young girl (said the 21-year old!) I used to daydream
about kissing the love of my life under the light of a full moon.  I didn't
know I was prescient."

   "Better do it again to make sure," I said.  We molded together, my
erection pressing against her.

   "We can do more than kiss, can't we?" she asked, her voice almost like a
shy little girl.

   "Yes, I believe we can," I said.  We worked together, me sitting back
up, her straddling my lap, the heat of her center seeking my hard staff. 
We managed to make that connection.  She tossed the blanket backward off
her shoulders, threw her head back and howled.

   I was momentarily startled.  "Howl with me, Stoney!  We won't be able to
do this every time, but howl with me."

   There's something primal about that.  Never knew it.  Never thought of
it before, but if Jo asked, I would see that Jo got.  Thrusting up into
her, I howled with her.  The chill of the air cooled my skin but did
nothing to lessen ardor.  She found a method of rocking that stimulated
both of us mightily.  I was trying my best to hold off an immediate urge to
come, wanting to see where she got with this.  Where she got was rapid
progression to clamping her mouth to mine, her tongue invading, searching,
then she did a little mewing sound, her lips still pressed to mine, her
body shuddered, and we both came.

   It didn't take long to recover my senses, urged along by the feel of
cold fiberglass on my butt without the urgency of sexual arousal to mask
it.

   Her face was buried into my neck.  I didn't move until she spoke.  "I
love you, Stoney, and my feet are cold."

   "Then let's get ourselves back below." And we scampered naked back into
the cabin, closing the hatch behind us.  She grabbed a towel and dabbed at
the creamy leakage running down her thighs.  I took the towel when she
finished and dried myself.

   "There's bound to be a better way to take care of that," she said. 
"Stoney, how adventurous are we supposed to be?  I'm new at this.  I've
heard all the talk, that's all."

   "Adventurous?"

   "Yeah.  About sex."

   "As long as it doesn't hurt, I guess I'm pretty open.  I do have lines,
but I don't think you'll cross any.  Why?"

   "Because I guess I'm supposed to be innocent and virginal and scared on
my wedding night, but I feel like I've been freed.  And we can, you
know..."

   "No, what?"

   "Do other things, you know, with our mouths?"

   "Uh, I didn't want to push you, you being all innocent and virginal."

   "Stoney, you're my husband.  Try me."

   "Didn't want to hit with everything at once."

   "So you're not against it?"

   "Nope, neither way.  Giving or receiving.  But..."

   "But you'd rather not?" she asked.

   "No, I'd rather you didn't get subjected to something distasteful to
you."

   "We're being awfully tentative here, Stoney.  I've been hearing about
this stuff for a decade.  Don't you think that I've had thoughts about what
might be pleasant?"

   "You're a sweet young thing.  You're not supposed to be layin' around
thinking about sex," I said.

   She smirked.  "Oh yeah.  Right.  And it started getting worse when we
started dating.  You're telling me that you didn't?

   "Wasn't supposed to.  Did anyway," I admitted.

   "Okay, then," she said, snuggling in against me, pulling the blanket
over us.  "I thought a lot about this, cuddling, snuggling, ending up in
that wonderful tangle of arms and legs like we did, what, THREE times
tonight?"

   "God help me, so did I," I admitted.

   "It was better than I dreamed," Jo told me.

   "My imagination is apparently limited.  I never dreamed..."

   She stopped my reply with a kiss.  "I sort of knew it would be like
this. We didn't really need foreplay, Stoney."

   "I didn't.  Jo, you've had me going every time you kiss me.  Tonight
was..."

   "I know.  Tonight was..."

   We said "Wow!" together, then giggled into each other's arms.

   "Back to being tentative, Stoney.  What would you LIKE to do?"

   "Kiss my way all over you."

   "See, I'd like that."

   "No 'off limits' areas?"

   "Just the one, because it's been used since my last shower."

   "Okay.  But this..." My fingers traced up the inside of her thigh,
reached the spot where she let out a breath she was holding when I started
past the knee.  She nodded vigorously.  And her fingers curved around my
dick.

   "Me too.  I get this."

   "Just so you know, baby," I said, "I belong to you totally.  All of me.
If you want it, if it's physically possible, I will do it.  Almost.  There
are some kinky things in the world these days."

   "Oh, I am NOT talking about crapping on your chest or something, Stoney
Jackson.  I have limits.  That's one of them.  But if you and I want to,
what's the phrase, oh, 'eat each other silly' then that's on my list of
things that I totally approve of."

   I had to laugh.

   "It's not funny, Stoney.  I'm perfectly serious..."

   "And perfectly beautiful," I said, pushing her gently down and kissing
my way from her earlobe, down her neck, across her clavicle to end up at a
nipple, evoking her sigh as my lips first kissed, then gently sucked it,
teasing it with my tongue.

   "Oh, god, Stoney ...  That's ...  ohhhhhh..."

   I moved to the other, taking the clamping of her hands on the back of my
head as a positive sign.  I worked that one over a bit more aggressively.
She let out a little whiney moan when I left it, but sucked a breath in
sharply when my tongue entered her navel.  I spent some time there, each
movement of my tongue and lips rewarded by ripples of the musculature of
her taut abdomen.  My Johanna was not fat.  Not skinny, either, just enough
fat to make the curves soft, enticing, and I was succumbing to the
enticement.

   When I moved away from her navel, kissing my way downward, her hands
remained on the back of my head.  I detected a little push.  So Jo really
WANTED that.  Good!  Very good!  I really wanted that, too.  I kissed my
way through a field of fine, almost straight red hair, the pheromones from
my goal drawing me ever closer.

   "OHgoshYES, Stoney!" Okay, there's a point that my Jo abandons subtlety.
"There!  Lick me there!"

   So I did.  Found out that this particular activity brings out the
multi-orgasmic capabilities of my mate.  I liked it.  I liked her tastes,
salty, musky, I liked the quivers and shakes and sighs and squeals as
feedback to this activity I so much enjoyed with every one of my senses.

   I lost count.  Three.  Four.  Who knows.  Finally the hands on my head
tugged.  "Stoney, come up here and kiss me before you finish killing me." I
reluctantly left my juicy paradise behind and crawled up beside her.  "I
never imagined ...  Never." Sigh.  She turned her face toward me.  "Stoney
...  So gooood!" and she kissed my sticky face.

   A hand softly encircled my all too predictable erection, her fingers
gently exploring.  "D'you know how much I've heard about all this?  I mean,
hangin' around with other girls, some of them were not a bit bashful about
talking about sex in graphic detail."

   "Really?!?"

   "Really," she said.  "You know what else?"

   "What, sweetest?"

   "They lack the vocabulary to describe what I just experienced."

   "I've never found words that could do this justice either," I said.

   "But all those conversations were educational, too.  Like, I learned
what a lot of people do."

   "And this tells us exactly what?"

   She giggled.  "It tells us that you're not a freak for doing what you
just did and I'm not a freak for almost passing out from it."

   "I didn't think so.  Besides, it's you and me.  If we enjoy it between
the two of us, then it's nobody's business at all.  As long as neither of
us needs medical attention afterward," I said.

   "Would you need hospitalization if I did this?" she asked before her
head bobbed and lips closed on MY nipple.  I shuddered from head to toe.

   Giggle.  "You seem to be affected, sir.  Positively?  Let me see." She
did it again, this time with a bite and a swirl of tongue.  Her head bobbed
up in the dim cabin light.  "Oh, yes!  A definite pulsation corresponds
with the input.  And, Stoney?"

   "Yes, Jo?"

   "Hairy chest.  I like it.  Just so you know.  I don't want you running
off and getting it waxed or something." She emphasized her statement by
rubbing her cheek on my chest, then her head turned and she went after the
other nipple.

   "Stop that and kiss me, Jo!"

   Giggle.  Kisssssssss.  "Too much?" her blue eyes punctuated the
question.

   "I'm gonna explode."

   "Again?" Giggle.  She looked thoughtful for a moment.  "How about YOUR
bellybutton?"

   I'm ticklish.  Especially right there.  How Jo figured that, I don't
know, but she wrapped her arms around my waist, planted her tongue in the
depths of my navel, and hung on as I writhed, first tickled, then
incredibly aroused.  When she sensed the change, she freed up her right
hand to fondle me again.  She'd moved down in the berth by then and when
her tongue stopped, she turned her face towards mine.

   "God, I love you, Stoney," she said.  "I hope you realize this is about
me and you in love, not a couple of horny people hookin' up."

   "Love," I said.  "Yes, little wife.  Love."

   "Then..." she said, and she turned her head.  She had a goal.  It was
right there, hot and purple and straining and she kissed it.

   I thought I was going to depart this plane of existence.  Her next move
sent me soaring out among the galaxies as she sucked the straining head of
my dick into her mouth.  She let out a little "Mmmmm" that moved every cell
in my entire body.  She pushed her head down, putting me deeper into the
moist furnace that was her mouth, sucking, her tongue exploring, probing.
Then she slowly drew back, finally pulling free with an audible pop.

   "Well?" she asked.

   "Wait a minute.  I'll be back in this universe."

   "You liked it?  I did okay?"

   "I loved it.  You did perfectly."

   "The way some girls talk, it's like an art or something.  Almost
clinical.  I wasn't sure.  I just had fun.  Stuff that it's made for."

   "Oh, gosh, Johanna Jackson, you surprise me."

   Squeal!  "You just called me Johanna Jackson!"

   "You are, aren't you?  Or do you prefer to be hyphenated?"

   Giggle.  "I've been hyphenated for the first time in my life tonight,
sir!  And I think I like being just Missus Jackson.  But that thing I did
to you?  Is it okay?"

   "It's okay.  Great!  Wonderful."

   "Would you still kiss me after I did that?"

   "Of course."

   "I heard some guys won't."

   "Come see." We kissed.

   "I don't want to lose the kissing." Giggle.  "But I kinda like that
other stuff, too."

   "You kissed me.  I was all sticky," I said.

   "But I taste good.  I've tasted me."

   "You do taste good.  But it's you.  Some girls wouldn't think of it like
that, you know."

   "I think we're both delicious.  I got stuff out of you, you know."

   "I suspected you did.  Didn't gross you out?"

   She kissed me again.  "Nope.  But that wasn't the big one."

   "No it wasn't.  I'd have told you so you could stop in time."

   "Did you stop when I started mine?  Coming?"

   "No, but girls are different."

   "Glad you noticed," she giggled.  "But turnabout is fair play."

   "But some girls..."

   "I heard the conversations, Stoney.  I know all the permutations, from
'No way!' to "Wonderful' and I need to find out.  But I'm leaning toward
'wonderful'." And all the time this conversation was happening, her fingers
were exploring my balls and my dick.  "Don't you think I want to find out?"

   "You just go ahead and do whatever you want to do, Jo."

   "I thought you'd say that," she giggled as she slid downward.  She
cradled my shaft between her fingertips, exploring in the dim light. 
"Needs kissing," she said as she started kissing it all over.  It pulsed, a
droplet of precum forming on the tip.  "Oh, that's what I've been tasting,"
she said.  She touched the viscous drop with her fingertip, tested its
consistency, then sucked her fingers, and then popped the head into her
mouth, sucking, squeezing.

   "Uh, Jo..."

   She popped her head up.  "Yes, love?"

   "I can't handle much more of that.  It's just too much.  You're ...  I'm
gonna..."

   "Isn't that sort of the point?  You do me.  I do you." She sucked me
into her mouth and then released me.  "I can tell by the way you're pulsing
down here." Another suck.  "So just do it.  When it happens, am I supposed
to stop, or keep sucking, or take it out of my mouth, or what?"

   "Just keep sucking," I said.  I wasn't perfectly sure, you know.  I'd
had a few experiences with women who sucked me off.  The only one who went
past the first squirt was paid for her participation.  She wasn't as pretty
as Jo and while she displayed a professional competence, I was enjoying
this one much more.  "But if you don't like it, just stop, okay?"

   "I'm going for it, Stoney." Her head bobbed downward, crimson hair
bouncing, with an "Mmmmm" for emphasis.

   I could feel the juice rising.  My scrotum drew up.  The fire was
building.  "Oh god, Jo!  It's coming!"

   "Mmm-hmmm" escaped and she sucked some more, head bobbing, lips and
tongue sliding, urging.

   I came.  The first surge got an "Mmmph!" and I was pleasantly surprised
that she didn't leap up and puke all over the bed.  No, I felt her throat
swallow and true to her word, she kept sucking, her tongue fastened under
the head, drawing me and I continued to shoot into her mouth.  Finally I
was spent and she sensed it.

   "That was incredible, Stoney," she said, grinning.  "Amazing!  I did
that to you," she said, crawling up beside me.  She moved her lips near
mine.  I completed the connection, feeling her lips part, her tongue
probing, my own following hers back into her mouth.  I pulled the covers
over us as we kissed.

   "I was afraid you wouldn't..." she said.

   "Told you I would," I replied.  "I love you, Johanna,"

   "I love you too, Stoney.  We're going to have a good life together."



   ------

   Chapter 15

   Sunlight pushed through the tiny cabin portholes, brighter on the
starboard side because the northerly wind had our bow pointed into it,
swinging at anchor.  Okay.  One sensation.  It was morning.  Second
sensation.  I was on my boat.  Third sensation.  Wasn't my boat any more,
it was OUR boat, because I had a soft, naked form beside me, breathing
softly.  Jo.  Twenty-four hours ago, she was my girlfriend.  After last
night, she was my wife.  Unless I was dreaming.  I touched the smooth
skinned flank beside me, got a sleepy purr.

   I nestled back in under the blanket.  Got a little "mmmmm" and a return
wiggle.  I know that as long as I don't actually speak, I can drift along
on that lush cusp between sleeping and waking, savoring the feelings.  The
feelings to be savored were, this morning, much greater.  There was now
enough light to make out the redness of that head of hair leaning into my
chest.  What was a pleasure to my eyes was also a pleasure to my nose as
tendrils of perfume sallied forth into my nose, and I made my lips happy by
gently grazing them through the sleek though lightly disheveled hair,
feeling, feeding on the beauty there.

   She stirred.  I felt her press her lips against my chest, her head
turning.

   "Stoney, I haven't awakened next to a man since the last time I slept in
mom and dad's bed when I was sick.  I was ten."

   "You're doing it right," I said.

   She eased up a little higher, bright blue eyes made bluer by the smile
beneath them.  "Good morning, Stoney."

   "Good morning, Missus Jackson.  That is, if you didn't wake up thinking
you've made a mistake."

   Her lips provided the beginnings of an answer.  The rest came in soft
words.  "I am Mrs.  Randall Jackson.  Since last night.  And for the rest
of my life."

   I returned her kiss.  "Then I wasn't dreaming after all."

   She gave me a happy giggle.  "I'm the subject of dreams?"

   "No, my princess.  You're the one who shows me that my best dreams were
only dim approximations."

   Giggle.  "Sweet talk will only get you ...  ME!" I was happy with that,
holding her close, her warmth feeding into my own, until she noticed the
effect all this closeness had on me.  "Stoney ...  You're ...  Is it okay
if we..."

   "Just so you know, little wifey, you never ever have to ask.  As long as
it won't outrage the public, you never have to ask."

   "You get a say, Stoney." I loved hearing my name on her lips from the
first day we met.

   "It's yours, Jo.  If you want it, it's yours."

   Purr.  "I want it.  It's attached to you.  And I want you." That was a
desire I was all too happy to meet.  This time I ended up with her atop me,
the ends of her hair brushing my cheeks as we kissed in the afterglow.

   "Stoney, there's something we completely didn't talk about last night.
Or this morning."

   "What's that, my love?"

   "Pregnancy."

   I guess I was supposed to get all nervous, but I wasn't.  I was looking
at the woman who might, if things were according to the normal course of
things, bear our children.  Last night was a tumble, but I'd determined in
my heart that if she was risking anything, she was certainly cognizant of
it.  If nine months brought forth the progeny of Stoney and Jo, if Jo was
good with it, So was Stoney.  That's what I explained to her.

   "In due time, husband," she said.  "I like that.  'Husband'.  Mine.  But
I use the Pill to stave off some really bad bouts with menstrual cramps."

   "The Pill?"

   "Yes.  ONLY for the cramps.  I never had any intention or notion or idea
of spreading my legs for some guy who I would not wake up beside and call
'husband'.  Last night, though, it served the added function of making our
honeymoon entirely without chance of conception." She put her fingertip on
the tip of my nose.  "So were you just totally overcome with the moment and
didn't consider the long-term effects?  Or?"

   "Or I considered that my Johanna was not somebody who would allow last
night to happen unless any effect was acceptable.  Like I said."

   "But you do think we should have children."

   "If both of us decide.  I don't want to put that on you and let you
think you're forcing me into something.  After all, It worked out well for
our own parents."

   "I want us to have children.  But not nine months from now.  I want us
to have a few years to get our lives and careers stabilized.  Then..."

   "Practical," I said.

   "I want to be," she said.  "But I desperately want us to have some time
together to ourselves.  Is that being selfish?"

   "No.  We get to work out how we fit together.  Skip around the
countryside..."

   "Sail out into the Gulf, get to see the sunset unimpeded by man, walk
the beaches somewhere." She smiled.  "ANd then we can buy a house, furnish
it for the two of us and whatever offspring we decide to produce.  And a
cat.  I would like a cat." She'd seen me playing with a cat one day at a
shop we visited.  "But right now I would like breakfast."

   Now you need to know that I have several modes of food prep on the boat.
Most of the time, though, on overnights and weekends, my mode is "instant
everything" with the exception of the Notable Meal.  My rationale is that
everything I pack onboard has to be subsequently packed back off, and
further, washing pots and pans and dishes is a real bummer when you can't
pump the effluvia overboard.

   "Freeze-dried breakfast, coming up," I said.  "Marine cuisine meets
backpacker tech." I put a kettle of water on the burner to boil and turned
the cabin heater up a bit to help out when I opened portholes to let the
accumulated moisture out.  Then I looked into the master cabin.  Jo naked
became Jo getting dressed.  I savored the motions of her body as she went
through the completely normal everyday task.

   She turned her head, catching me in mid-gaze.  Giggled.  "You're
looking!"

   "You're beautiful.  It's hard not to stare."

   "I know," she said.  "I was peeking when you got dressed."

   "I thought you were still half asleep."

   "That half that was asleep was watching.  The part that was waking up
was all tingly still.  It's never had attention shown to it like that." She
smiled because as she talked, she could see what I felt: my dick waking up,
coming to half an erection, pushing visibly against the front of my pants.

   "IS that going to be the way it is, Stoney?"

   "Is what?"

   "When I talk about how I get tingly, you get hard."

   "Pretty much.  Might want to keep that in mind for public discussions."

   Giggle.  She tilted her pretty red head.  "I'm glad I have that effect
on you.  You just don't see the effect you have on me, that's the only
difference." She bounced up to me and wrapped her arms around me.  "Stoney,
I absolutely love you."

   "Good," I said.  "Do you want to go back to land and go get rings and
stuff?"

   "Nope!  I want to spend my honeymoon, all two days of it, right here on
this boat."

   I swiveled in her arms so I could kiss her.  Her face was turned up to
meet my lips.  "We can certainly do that, little angel," I said.

   "After breakfast," she said, "Let's SAIL this thing.  We have a north
wind.  You're bound to know some other anchorages on the bay.  Let's sail
there, anchor, make that pot of soup you packed the ingredients for, and
we'll do some music and then..." Her eyes twinkled.  "I'm twenty-one years
old, Stoney.  I know girls who've been screwing since they were twelve or
thirteen.  I'm afraid I'm going to have to use you to try to catch up."

   "Then I'll need some coffee," I said.

   "Not gonna work, guy," she smiled.  "I drink coffee too."

   "Then we'll both be awake when I die," I laughed.

   "And I'll have a good day of sailing from it," she retorted, eyes
laughing.

   We took our breakfast in the cabin, then when the coffee was done, I
filled a thermos with some for later and two insulated mugs went with us
into the open air, the sky blue, the wind cool, just begging to fill the
sail for us.

   She relaxed aback into my arms, the oversized wool sweater from my
locker bulking her up, hiding the charms I'd touched for the first time
last night.

   "Be honest, Stoney.  Last night.  Was I any good?"

   I nuzzled the red hair aside, kissing her cheek.  "Johanna Jackson, you
are nothing short of a demonstration of the inadequacy of my fantasies. 
You're everything I dreamed, raised an order of magnitude."

   "Really?"

   "Really.  More than I ever imagined." I meant it.  "What about you?"

   "Oh, Stoney ...  Words don't describe what happened to me.  I lack the
vocabulary," she sighed with a smile.  "I remember the first time I tickled
myself to orgasm, Stoney.  I think I was twelve or thirteen.  I thought
that nothing would ever top that.  But you..."

   "That's my report, too, Jo.  With you, earthquakes and lightning."

   She smiled.  "Really.  Stoney, I know you've had other women.  I worry
that I don't measure up."

   "Johanna, you're on an entirely different scale.  And if you want that
discussion..."

   "Tell me."

   "I have been with several others over the years.  One or two that I
thought I really loved, connected with.  Nobody was my Johanna.  Really. 
Truly.  And there will never be another."

   After coffee, we secured the galley, made the berth and prepared to get
underway.

   "You understand how this engine works?" I asked.

   She nodded, touching the controls.  "Transmission.  Throttle."

   "Okay," I said.  "I'm going forward.  Just about dead slow, you ease us
up and I'll pull in the anchor.  Shouldn't be a big deal.  Once I get the
anchor stowed, I'll get back here and we'll set the sail and head off
south."

   "Okay, but just this time.  I need to learn all this," she said.

   We executed the plan well and we were soon on a broad reach, the stern
wake making chuckling noises as we reached hull speed.  It was a glorious
day on the water.  I set up the autopilot to maintain the heading so we
could both relax.  With the cool air, relaxation was best done in each
other's arms.  Jo let her hands roam freely, as did I.

   "Slide your hands underneath my blouse, Stoney." She had a cotton blouse
underneath my wool sweater and I slid my hands up inside, her flesh warm to
my touch, her skin smooth, taut.  Surprise!  No bra.  She squealed and then
slumped back into my arms.  "If I didn't suspect otherwise, I'd think that
those were made just for you to touch." She paused.  "And that thing you
did last night with your mouth."

   "I wasn't too rough?"

   "Heavens, no," she sighed.  "It was wonderful.  Did you like them?  Ever
since puberty I've hoped they'd get bigger."

   "Why do women do that, Jo?"

   "Do what?"

   "Sit next to a guy who absolutely adores them and run down the things he
adores.  Your breasts.  Titties.  Boobs.  Whatever you ant to call them, I
think they are perfection."

   "You don't wish they were bigger?"

   "Nope.  Perfection, just as they are.  I suspect that in the later
stages of pregnancy we will see some growth, but until that time, they are
the absolute most perfect things imaginable."

   "You sure?"

   "I'm sure.  Why do you keep asking?"

   "I have a friend who has D-cups and she says her boyfriend likes, uh, in
her words, 'titty-fucking'.  I don't have enough to do that."

   "Turn around," I said.  While she was re-positioning herself, I quickly
surveyed the set of the sail and our course in relation to the land on one
side (going there would get us solidly stuck in the mud, an embarrassment)
and the deepwater ship channel on the other.  The ship channel was the path
taken by ocean-going traffic, dry cargo ships, oil tankers, big guys who
had no choice as to their path.  Going there and ignoring them would get
one killed.  We were in good shape with both.

   Jo curled into my arms.  "Now, Jo, let's talk."

   Bright blue eyes looked at me.  "This is serious," she said.

   "Yes it is," I answered.  I paused.  "You do know, don't you, that those
blue eyes of yours will get you anything from me that I can give you?"

   "But we're gonna have this serious talk," she said.

   "Yes.  I wish to discuss your perfection."

   "Okay."

   "Don't sell yourself short, Mizzus Johanna Jackson.  Make no doubt about
it.  I view you as perfection.  Last night was the single greatest erotic
experience I've had in my whole life.  I suspect that as we get to know
each other more, it will get better.  But nowhere in my list of things I
want from you was there any reference to 'titty-fucking'."

   "Are you sure?"

   "Positive.  Where I was last night was nirvana."

   "What about when I'm having a period?"

   I kissed her.  "Jo, I managed to restrain myself for a month and a half.
I think I could manage a week for your period."

   "You showed self-restraint as well as I, Stoney.  Last night HAD to
happen.  I'd decided that you wanted to be my husband but you were so cute
being all cautious."

   "Oh, really?  Did id cross your mind that you might not be the world's
best at reading minds?"

   Giggle.  "Oh, I'm not.  Just this ONE mind.  Yours." She kissed me. 
"And I'll stop worrying, okay?  But don't you waltz into the bedroom one
night and ask for titty-fucking."

   "You need to pick a better class of friends," I said.

   "Oh, I do.  But some of the girls ...  wow!  Even Key."

   "Key?  Sweet little Key?"

   "Lot more experienced than I was, buddy," she said.  "Not promiscuous,
mind you, but experienced, nonetheless." She paused.  "And she asked me
when you and I were hookin' up, as she delicately put it."

   "Well, we did that pretty much, huh?"

   She got a look of feigned seriousness on her face.  "Stonewall Jackson,
Johanna Jackson does NOT 'hook up'!"

   "Nor does her husband.  We can have fun.  Get deliriously crazy.  Drive
each other nuts.  But it's forever."

   "But we do have to tell 'er."

   I laughed.  "We have to tell everybody.  I'm sure Key will pry more
details from you the first night you stay there."

   Jo sucked her breath in sharply.  "You expect me to stay THERE?  We just
got married.  You can't be serious."

   "You mean to tell me you weren't going back to your apartment?"

   "Nope.  Got a husband.  I live with him."

   "I hoped that, but I thought..."

   "Stoney, I'm not kidding here.  Last night was serious.  I pledged to
you.  You pledged to me.  We both pledged to the moon."

   "Then it's easy.  You move in.  You're my wife.  We never part."

   Kiss.  "The way it should be, Stoney.  Better than announcing our
engagement and whatever."

   "Uh ...  your mom and dad."

   "Watch this, my husband, and learn where you stand in my life." She got
up, went below, came back with her cellphone.  She pushed the button and I
heard Siri's businesslike tones.  "Mom," Jo said.  "Calling Mom, mobile,"
Siri announced.  Jo held the phone to her ear.

   "Jo," I started.

   "Shhhhh!" she said, putting a fingertip to my lips.  "Mom?  Are you
sitting?" Pause.  "I have some news.  Is Dad around?" Pause.  "Get 'im,
please.  This is important." Jo twisted so the phone was between our ears.

   Bridgette's voice: "Okay, dear.  He's here.  I'm putting you on speaker.
What's so important since last night.  You're no longer engaged to Stoney?"

   "No, Mother.  I am not engaged to Stoney.  No longer."

   Her dad's voice, and he sounded very dad-like.  Gruff.  She might've
heard 'Dad'.  I had flash-backs of standing with my heels locked in front
of an irate colonel.  "Johanna Elise Solheim, you need to explain yourself
to us."

   Jo smiled and in a soft voice said, "Mom.  Dad.  I am no longer Johanna
Elise Solheim.  I am Mrs.  Randall Jackson.  We are married."

   "When?!?!  How?!?!" Her mom was asking questions.  I was imagining her
dad changing colors and running a mental inventory of his weapons and
ammunition.

   "We swore by each other and by the moon, Mom.  You understand that,
don't you?"

   "Yes, I understand, baby," Bridgette said.  "But those were stories
about the old folkways."

   Jo's voice took an edge.  "Maybe so, Mom.  But it's as valid as it ever
was with two hearts in it."

   Her father's voice.  "You're married.  How?"

   "Dad, this is Texas.  There's a law.  We're married if we claim we're
married."

   Her mom's voice.  "Johanna my love, I know you too well.  You're
serious. I like to think you know Stoney.  Is he serious?"

   "Yes, Mom.  Dad.  He's very serious.  About me."

   "Where is he?" her dad asked.

   "Right here, Dad," Jo said.  "Let him tell you.  But Dad?"

   "Yes, Johanna?"

   "Be nice to him.  He's MY husband.  YOUR son-in-law.  And if you kill
'im, I'm becoming a nun.  And we're not even Catholic."

   "Your mother is.  And she doesn't want her daughter becoming a nun.  Let
me speak with him."

   "Good morning, sir," I said.

   "Good morning, son," he said.  "You're marrying my daughter."

   "Sir, I married your daughter, according to what she told me last night
under the light of a full moon.  Uh, sir, I dearly love her.  I want you
and her mother to be happy with this."

   "Kind of abrupt, son," he said.

   "And she called you and Bridgette every step of the way.  She's a good
daughter, but sir, she's twenty-one, intelligent, talented, and I guess a
bit headstrong..."

   "Derives that from her mother," Anders said.  "But yes, all of that is
true."

   "I love her, sir.  I can provide for her as a wife.  I am not marrying a
toy, if that's what worries you.  I am a man of honor."

   "I accept that, son," he said.  "Now, do you two plan on making this
official?"

   "Jo?" I asked.  "How?  When?"

   "This next Saturday.  At the courthouse.  We, Stoney and I, can scare up
witnesses.  We'd like you and mom there." She giggled.  And Dad?  You can
put up that DVD of Prince William's wedding.  We won't be replicating
that."

   "We shall be there," Bridgette's voice announced.  "Won't we, Anders,
love?"

   "Yes dear, we will.  Johanna, you've brought another blessing into our
lives with a flash.  Stoney, welcome to the family."

   "Thank you both," I said.

   "Thank you Dad.  Mom.  We love you!" Jo said.  She punched the button to
hang up and turned to me.  "That, Stoney Jackson, is where you fit in MY
life!"

   I slumped back against the cockpit coaming.  "Wow!  You're really
serious."

   She half-crawled on me.  "Darned straight, guy." She wiggled, paused,
looked thoughtful, wiggled again.  Is your brain and heart as serious as
this part is?"

   "Yes, even more so.  I don't think that thing appreciates music and
beauty and intelligence the way my heart and my head do."

   "How much longer to our anchorage?" she asked.

   "An hour, more or less."

   Her fingers fiddled with the front of my pants.  "Uh ...  we might need
you to start wearing a kilt." She got the zipper down, reached inside and
retrieved my erect dick.  "There it is!  In the sunlight where I can see it
good!"

   I smiled.  "That feels good, but what if I have to stand up?"

   She looked around.  "There're no other boats out here.  And if you stand
up, I will take that as an opportunity."

   Okay, I can play this game.  I stood up.  "An opportunity for what?"

   She cupped my ass in her hands, pulling me to her.  Her mouth opened,
then closed over my dick.  After a throaty "Mmmmm" and a tongue-augmented
suck, the released me.  Smiling, she said, "That!"

   "And in return I get?"

   She stood, grabbed the hem of her blouse and pulled it and the sweater
up, exposing twin creamy mounds to the sun.  I loved on each of them with
my mouth and tongue and lastly, a little nip.

   "Oooo," she squealed.

   "Too hard?  Sorry.  Hard to resist," I apologized.

   "Oh, no," she squealed.  "Do it some more.  With that biting thing."

   I complied with my new wife's wishes.  Her nipples were little delights,
reactive, pink in the middle of tight little areolae that developed a ring
of tiny bumps as my tongue teased them.

   "Enough!" she said.  "It's a little cool in the breeze, and if you do
much more we're going to have to be naked or I'm gonna go nuts."

   "Me too, little one," I said.  "Me too."

   She snuggled in beside me as distance gurgled in our wake.  "This is all
so very new and exciting to me, Stoney."

   "It is to me, too, Jo.  Never was like this, so, uh, magical.  You're
what I spent my life looking for, thinking I'd never find.  That some day
I'd give up and settle."

   "Funny how things work, isn't it.  I don't know about myself.  After
that whole 'David' disaster ...  It's ...  I tried looking at it
analytically.  The smart ones had what they call in my Psych class,
'issues' and Stoney, I couldn't see myself with a guy who wasn't literate
and cultured in the classic sense.  And there there YOU were, kneeling at
my feet, looking at me with those darned blue eyes, and you said, "That's
cheating" and you identified the passage I was playing.  I wasn't looking.
Wasn't expecting.  And there you were."

   "And here we are." I kissed the top of the head on my chest.  "I like it
here."

   "Me too." Giggle.  "But I'll like it more when we get to the anchorage."

   That happened a half an hour later.  I doused the sail and set the
anchor and showed Jo how to light the cabin heater.

   "It's chilly in here," she said, stripping the sweater over her head. 
"I'll see you under the blanket, sir.  Without clothes.  After you put the
beans on to simmer."

   I had the pot on the stove on low heat and I was out of my own clothes
and under the blankets with a happy redhead.  Between the cabin heater and
the stove burner, the temperature rose rapidly and the blanket was tossed
in a heap at the foot of the birth.

   "It's time, Stoney," she said.  "Mate with me again."

   Our mouths locked together and I rolled onto my back, holding her lithe
form against me.  My hands clasped her shapely ass, guiding her as she
rubbed herself against my erection.  She decided that straddling was the
proper move.  Experimentally, she sat back.  "This works," she said.  "I
feel you.  Right there!" She wiggled, the underside of my dick enveloped in
the moist folds of her womanhood.  She slid back and forth.  "Oh yeah. 
This really works." She looked at my face.  "Is it good for you?"

   "Ohgodyesssss," I hissed.  "There's gonna be a mess."

   "Oh, no, Stoney.  Don't!  That's supposed to happen inside me!" She rose
up, reached down with one hand, her fingertips gently guiding me into line
with the path to heaven.  Eased herself down.  "Ahhhhhhhh," she moaned. 
"Exactly right!" She read the expression on my face.  "Stoney, I'm sooooo
close!  Just do it, baby!  In me.  Do it!" Her hands gripped my chest, her
fingers digging into my own breasts and that sweet ass bounced and writhed
on me.  When she tossed that red head back, reacting to her own orgasm, I
could hold mine no longer.  I jetted surge after surge into her.  Finally
she slumped back onto my chest, her breathing slowly normalizing.

   "See!" she said.  "THat's what I warned you about while ago.  We teased
each other."

   "And it's so very good," I said.

   "I like that position.  I can control..."

   "You just go ahead and control all you want."

   She smiled sweetly.  "It's all so new, Stoney.  I want to do and do and
do.  But I don't want to tire you out."

   "Sweetness," I said, kissing her.  "I'm self-limiting.  If it's tiring
me out, that thing won't get hard any more.  As long as it gets hard, I'm
not too tired." Another kiss and I got up and gave the soup a stir, came
back with yet another towel to dab up the drippings from our coupling. 
When I turned, she was standing, strikingly nude.  We pulled each other
into an embrace, kissing.

   "Why don't we get dressed and play a little music while the soup
simmers," she said.

   "Music is a wonderfully attractive part of you, lady," I said.  We tried
playing together in the cockpit but the wind was just a little too brisk.
We retired into the main cabin and made music, and you know, with Jo as
inspiration, I was practicing a lot more and our music together was getting
better.

   An added plus was that making music was Jo's big passion.  With the
flute at her lips, the smile was perpetually imminent and it got bigger
when we played together.  More, we entertained one another.  She'd play me
a piece, I'd play her one.  We finished up with that concerto for flute and
harp.

   Lunch was a bowl of navy bean soup and some crusty bread and a bottle of
wine.  Bellies full, a light buzz going, and I had this cutie pie tugging
my hand in the direction of of the master berth.  The ensuing activity
guaranteed a great nap, rocked gently by the waves, the warmth of the
female form against me.

   I awakened to a warm wet suction, looked down to see a red head sucking
my flaccid dick.  It didn't stay flaccid.  "Mmmmm.  It's growing," she
said. She looked at me, smiling.  We made slow, gentle love.  I relished a
cascade of sensations.  She read me off a catalog of hers.

   "I didn't understand ...  Stoney, I really didn't think it could be this
big a deal.  You.  Me.  It's almost spiritual."

   "Then we're doing it right," I said.

   Dinner was a bowl of the same soup and another bottle of the same wine
and the evening was a bit warmer than the previous night so we watched the
sun set and sky grow dark and we shed our clothes and made love under the
moon once more before going back below for the night.

   The next morning we ate, weighed anchor and headed back to the marina.

   "Stoney, it's time to tell the world, you know."



   ------

   Chapter 16

   Going to tell everybody.  "I know.  I think I'm gonna lease the Goodyear
blimp," I said.

   "Can we get rings?"

   "Yes, we can get rings," I said.  "What does your taste in wedding rings
look like?"

   "I think I would like a simple band.  Gold.  Yours?"

   "I shall match yours.  You sure though?  No large rock?"

   "Oh, come on, Stoney.  This is me and you.  Married by the light of the
full moon.  I need to ask Mom what the appropriate Celtic take would be."

   "She collected a Viking..."

   Jo laughed.  "I'll tell her you said that."

   "Don't go pissing my father-in-law off now."

   "Oh, Dad lets 'er lead him around more than you might think."

   I looked at her against the background of the sun-dappled waves.  "It's
a shame it's not spring," I said.  "A tiara of daisies would look good on
you."

   "And what else?" she giggled.

   "See?!?" I said, "I wasn't even going there.  I had that smiling face
and a wreath of daisies."

   "Bluebonnets.  This is Texas," she said.

   "They'll put you in jail for messing with bluebonnets in Texas. 
Daisies."

   "Daisies it is, then...  " she smiled, took my hand.  Gave it an extra
squeeze when a puff of wind caused us to heel sharply.

   "We're okay," I said.

   "We're more than okay, Stoney.  We're together."

   "You're liking this," I said.

   "I'm loving this, Stoney."

   We made the marina without any particular problems.  As soon as the
docklines were secured, she took off for the onshore bathhouse.

   Gary was making his rounds.  "Jo?  The redhead with the flute?" he
asked.

   "Yeah," I said.

   "First time I ever noticed you taking an overnighter with a girl," he
said.

   "Not just any girl.  Wife."

   "Seriously?  Married?"

   "Yessir," I said.

   "How long?"

   "Since Friday," I said.  "This is the honeymoon."

   "I'd've taken THAT girl to see the Wonders of the World," Gary said.

   "I know ...  And one day we will ...  But she's got school.  I've got
work."

   "Yeah ...  I guess..."

   "Anyway ...  We're married."

   "I wondered what possessed you to go out Friday evening.  It was nasty."

   "Yeah.  Foul weather gear all the way out.  Anchored about five miles
down the bay.  Spent the night.  Woke up Saturday, went down to that last
anchorage before the Narrows, spent the night.  Made soup.  Played music.
And we're back."

   "Played music?"

   "Flute and banjo," Jo said as she walked up.  "Hi, Gary!"

   "You married this guy?"

   "Mmm-hmmm," she said.  "Wanted a banjo player all my life." Giggle. 
"Wanna hear us?"

   "I'd like that," Gary said.  "If you have time."

   I shrugged.  "Sure!  We aren't on a schedule.  Come aboard.  Have a cold
drink?"

   "Got a coke?" he asked.

   "Sure," Jo said.  "Come aboard with us."

   As we returned to the boat I heard the geese honking in the distance,
but getting closer.  "I brought popcorn," Jo said.

   We pulled out the instruments and sat in the cockpit, with Jo tossing a
handful of popcorn over the side between numbers, having a happy time
playing.

   "I noticed something," Jo said.

   "What," Gary asked.

   "You have frequency-sensitive geese."

   "Wha-aaa?" he and I said almost in unison.

   "While we were playing, they honk.  But not the same ones all the time.
Watch.  Here's a G." She put the flute to her lips and a clear tone came
forth.  And a goose honked.  "Now, let's drop to a C." Another note,
another goose honking.  "Now watch." She alternated from one note to the
other and two geese honked in turn." She told Gary, "You don't have enough
geese.  We need twelve for a chromatic octave."

   "I appreciate your love of music, but I'll stick to iTunes," Gary said.
"Besides, what happens if they go out of tune?"

   "Yeah, that's a problem," I said.  "You can tune a banjo, but you can't
tuna fish.  Where do geese fit?"

   "Stoney!  I may rethink our marriage.  I didn't know you were a punster
when I consented!" Jo giggled.

   "That IS bad," Gary laughed, shaking his head.  "And you dropped it
right into the middle of a civilized conversation."

   "I'm just a poor ol' engineer.  Lacking in social skills," I laughed. 
We played a couple more numbers to the accompaniment of the geese,
gathering an audience of other marina denizens in the interim.  Finally we
begged off, loaded the car, secured the boat, and hit the road.

   I glanced at the bright-eyed happy-looking redhead sitting beside me. 
"How do we do this?  Your old apartment first?"

   "Uh-huh," she said.  "Gotta get some stuff.  It'll take a few trips to
get it all."

   "Uh, how's Key gonna take this.  Weren't y'all splitting the rent?"

   "Got it paid through the end of the month.  And there are a couple of
other girls who've been wanting to get in there.  She won't have a problem
as far as that part is concerned."

   "But losing you?"

   "She's not losing me, Stoney.  We'll still see each other at school and
it's not like you're hauling me off into the wilderness."

   "Well, you two live together..."

   "Since the beginning of the semester.  Two months.  I'm not married to
Key.  I'm married to you."

   "Okay," I said.  "I was just wondering what kind of drama we're in
for..."

   Drama ensued when we got to Jo's apartment.  Jo knocked on the door, not
knowing what she'd find inside.  "Come in!" came Key's voice and we found
Key and a light-skinned black guy sitting at the table sharing a pile of
chips and a bowl of dip.

   "Jo, Stoney, this is Hutch," she said.  Hutch stood up.  My height.  Not
fat.  Nicely dressed, in fact, as was Key.

   "Actually," he said, "I'm James Hutchinson.  But everybody calls me
Hutch.  I recognize Jo.  You must be Stoney.  Key talks about Jo's white
boy all the time."

   "I'm guilty," I said as I shook his offered hand.

   "Watch, Stoney, Hutch ain't a trumpet player." Key chuckled.

   "Key, darlin'" Hutch said, "Be nice!"

   "Oh, I am nice," Key said.  "This is Jo's boyfriend..."

   "Not any more," Jo interrupted.

   Key's face fell.  "You're not breakin' up, huh?  Jo, he's..."

   "My husband," Jo said.  "Stoney is my husband."

   "No joke?!?!"

   "Congratulations," Hutch said.

   "Yeah," Key added.  "But when?"

   "Since Friday, unofficially," Jo said.

   Key cocked an eye at her.  "Unofficially.  What's that mean?  Wait!  I
don't wanna know..."

   "It's not exactly like, that, Key.  You're the one majoring in
sociology. You know about the marriage customs around the world."

   "Uh ...  ohhhhh, so what'd you do, jump a broom?"

   "No, went with the Celtic thing Mom told me about.  Swore by the full
moon."

   "Girl, you know that Texas is a common-law state.  What you did, telling
US that you're married, you're married.  It might take a lawyer to make it
stick, but I know people..."

   "Oh, you're not telling me anything I don't already know, Key.  But
Saturday Mom and Dad are coming back to town and they're going to see us do
it officially.  And I need witnesses.  You up for it?"

   "Oh, it'll be a kick.  We'll be there." She looked at Hutch for
affirmation.  He nodded assent.

   "Uh, Key, I'm gonna go live with Stoney."

   "That's how that's supposed to work, I understand," she said.  "So,
like, today?"

   "I'll get some stuff today and we'll move the rest out this week. 
What's that girl's name that wanted to move in?"

   "Heck with HER," Key said.  The way she leaned against Hutch finished
the idea without the need for additional words.

   "Oh, so THAT'S how it is," Jo giggled.

   "Well, I really like this place," Key said, "but this latte'-lookin'
dude has decided that we should be married after graduation and we were
looking for place to co-habit."

   "Co-habit?"

   "Key's way to avoid sayin' 'shack up'," Hutch said.

   "Hutch!  I'm gonna have to teach you some decorum," Key said.  "But I
didn't want to ask you to move, Jo."

   "So it works out, then?" Jo said.  "See," she told me, "you were
worried."

   "You need to learn to stop worryin' around Jo," Key said.  "Girl's got
her stuff together."

   "I'll learn.  I see more of it every day," I said.  I did.  There was a
side of Johanna that was organized and assured and competent.  There was
also a side, though, that was a bit of 'scared little girl', too, and that
got me into the caring and protective mode really fast.  But this was also
the girl who caught me sitting straight up in bed the first night we spent
together, recognized that I was reacting to dreams, and softly brought me
back down to earth.

   Two trips to the car later, we left the parking lot in separate
vehicles, mine and her little Honda.  I gave up my numbered slot and parked
my car in one of the more remote 'first come, first serve' slots, loaded
myself up and headed to the door, stepping lively to catch up with Jo.  I
unlocked the door and let us in.

   "Gotta get you some keys," I said.  "It's your house."

   "My house, too?"

   "No," I said.  "It's been a place for me to stay.  Now it's your house."
We dropped our loads and wrapped up in a long kiss.  "And now you're
finally home."

   "I love you, Stoney," she said.

   "My precious Johanna," I said.  "I love you, too."

   A couple more trips and I had everything inside.  She walked into the
bedroom.  Turned.  Smiled.  "There's something I need you to do for me,"
she said.

   In view of everything that had happened since we anchored Friday
evening, that open-ended statement carried a wealth of pleasant
possibilities.  I practically skipped into the bedroom.

   She caught the expression and giggled.  "Show me which closet space is
mine.  And dresser drawers."

   "Oh, I'm all about drawers right now.  YOURS!" She squealed as a pinned
her to the bed.

   "Let go of my hands, darnit!" she said.  "If this is what's happening,
then I get to participate!"

   "So you're willing to forgo the proper disposition of your belongings in
order to..."

   "In order to make this into our marriage bed," she giggled.  "Don't
you..."

   "Yes, I do," I said.  The activity that took place in that bed over the
next hour was the first for it.  I'd never missed it, really, in a total
sense.  Now, with Jo held close, cuddled in my arms, it seems so long
overdue.

   "You're thinking again, Stoney..."

   "Only about you.  About how my life suddenly acquired colors and music
and light.  How a redheaded angel has brought me life."

   She smiled.  "You think about me any time you want, Stoney.  I love it."

   "That's how I ended up here, Jo.  I could not stop thinking about you."

   Her finger idly traced the ridges and furrows of my scarred hip.

   "Don't get grossed out," I said.

   "Not even, Stoney," she said softly.  "It's mine.  All of you is mine.
Just like I belong to you."

   "But you're perfection.  I'm beat up."

   "Character.  You earned who you are, Stoney.  And who you are is who I
fell in love with, okay?  And I'm not perfect.  I have freckles all over
the place."

   "Not ALL over.  And each one is a delight." I kissed my way from her
shoulder to her neck.  She wiggled in my grasp, squealing in delight.

   "You make me screamingly happy, guy," she sighed, catching her breath.

   "Me too, girl," I replied.  I slumped onto the bed, holding her beside
me.  "God, Johanna, it's crazy!  I found you.  You're so perfect!"

   "Stop that, Stoney!  You're gonna make me believe it."

   "I believe it," I said.  "Tell me I'm not dreaming."

   "You're not dreaming and we have stuff to put away and we have to
determine where dinner is coming from."

   "Dinner."

   "I'm thinking something light.  Those burgers for lunch are plenty of
calories for the day."

   "Push me out of the bed," I said.  "Otherwise they'll have to come
search for us and find two dried up husks in the bed."

   She gave me a shove, giggling.  "Oh, no, baby!  I want this to go on for
years and years and years..."

   "In the business world, we call that 'incentive'," I said, standing.  I
found my underwear and pulled them on, then pants and a T-shirt.  She
retrieved her panties.

   "Which drawer has your T-shirts, Stoney?"

   "Top right.  Why?"

   "I have wanted to be in one of your T-shirts for a long time.  I was
gonna ask you.  But how's that supposed to work?  'Excuse me, but I'd like
one of your shirts so I can go to sleep at night thinking about you?' So I
married you instead."

   "Thus guaranteeing yourself a lifetime access to T-shirts," I said.

   "You are so wrong," she said pulling me to her as she stood.  "Why do I
need Stoney's T-shirt when I can have the whole Stoney?"

   "Glad to see that you note the difference." We made short and happy work
of putting her stuff away, starting a load of laundry, going through the
kitchen cabinets.

   "Do you wanna try and make something, Or do you know someplace close..."

   "Soup and sandwich?" I finished for her.

   "Exactly!" she answered.

   "But as delightful as you look in a T-shirt and panties, I think you're
gonna bust their dress code."

   "Come help me get dressed, then," she smiled, heading back into the
bedroom.

   Okay, I wasn't that helpful, you know, but eventually we were out the
door.  Little neighborhood grill up the street provided a sandwich and a
bowl of soup apiece.

   And we were back home.  Door locked.  Curtains pulled.  She looked at me
with those bright blue eyes, tossed her head, making my heart skip a beat
when that red hair splayed out in a copper cascade.  "We need to shower."
She put her hands on my hips, wiggling against me.  "I would really like to
do that with you."

   That skipped beat from my heart?  Now it was double-timing.  "Lovely
idea, Jo."

   First shower together.  First one I've shared in a long time.  I'd use
the obvious 'too long' qualifier, but when Jo stepped out of the light blue
panties at her feet and stood before me fully illuminated, fully naked ...
she caught herself as she tried to cover up her exposure, relaxed, let her
arms fall to her side.  Her smile returned.  "I need to get used to the
idea that all this is yours," she said, pirouetting.

   I savored what I saw.  I started shedding my own clothes, standing as I
finished pushing my pants off my feet.  Yeah, I was erect.

   "Stoney, you look delicious!" she blurted.  "I'm sorry.  You know I
don't mean to treat you like a piece of meat, but you look delicious."

   I couldn't help but smile.  "I'm glad you see me that way."

   "No, you don't understand.  REALLY delicious." She started to kneel.

   "Jo, you don't have to..."

   "Stoney, get over it.  I want to.  This morning when I woke you up like
that, I had a choice.  I chose this.  I like it.  You.  I like yours." Her
lips circled the head of my dick, her tongue teasing, exploring.  My knees
wobbled.  She smiled.  "That's what I mean when I say you're delicious."
Her head bobbed forward.  "Mmmmmmm."

   She stood.  "We were going to shower, weren't we?" Pause.  "Stoney?"

   "I'm trying to recover blood flow to my speech centers, Jo."

   Big grin.  "I affect you that much?"

   "Like I've never experienced, redhead." I started the water in the
shower, pushed her inside.

   She picked up my bar of soap.  "Oh, baby, can we get something a bit
different for me?"

   "Of course.  We need to fit this place out for you." I lathered her up.

   "I didn't think about soap.  I got my shampoo, though," she said.  "Sir,
you're going way past the amount of rubbing and lathering necessary for
sanitary functions." Giggle.  "And I love every bit of it!" she took the
soap and lathered me up.  "This backbrush?  You like it?  I can just use a
cloth instead, if you want."

   "Use the brush."

   "Oooooo," she giggled.  "You like a little pain." She scrubbed my back.
That was a luxury unknown to me.  I think that the last time I'd had my
back washed for me was when I was still in the hospital, recovering from
wounds.  And it wasn't nearly this much fun.

   "You want that brush on your back?" I asked.

   "Nope.  Just the washcloth." She turned and I lavished the lather back
and forth on her back, then pulled the telephone showerhead free and rinsed
her.  My fingers slid down her back and into the cleft of her shapely ass.
"Hey, what are you doing back there?"

   "Making sure everything is clean.  Attention to detail." I probed her
anus with my fingertip.

   "Watch it!  That stays virgin!"

   "Just making it squeaky clean," I said.

   "I didn't clean yours," she said.  "Turn around." She lathered her hands
and the crack of my ass, then went to work.  When her fingertip hit my own
brown ring, I flinched.  "Hey, you knew I was back here."

   "That's as virgin as yours, you know."

   "I bet not," she giggled.  "Don't you get prostate exams and stuff?"

   "You don't count medical procedures," I said.

   "Oh, I see," she said.  "But somebody's finger's been up there."

   "Uh ...  Ohhhh!" I exclaimed.

   She penetrated me with a fingertip, giggling.  "There!  Squeaky clean.
Sit!"

   I sat on the little bench in the shower and submitted to getting my head
scrubbed.  The hair is short.  Doesn't take long.  Feels great, though,
when somebody else washes it.  Especially when that 'somebody' is naked,
glistening, and interested in putting a firm, rounded titty right in my
face.  She put her fingertips under my chin, tilting my face up, and with
soapy fingers massaged and washed my face.  Her fingertips rubbed my beard,
getting a feel of the texture.

   "You shave every day, don't you?" she asked.

   "Yes.  I have an electric razor on the boat, but I usually shave right
after my shower.  Everything's softer then."

   "Make sure you shave, baby.  You have some stout whiskers.  Dad did, and
he loved scrubbing them against my face when I was a kid.  It was good for
a ten-second giggle.  Yours might end up somewhere else and I'd lose a
layer of skin."

   "Since I find your skin quite desirable, I shall comply," I said.  "But
you washed my back.  My head.  You sure you don't wanna shave me?"

   Giggle.  We stood in the warm spray.  "I might try that one day," she
said.  "But let's hold off on that.  You finished?"

   "I guess," I said, killing the water.  We got out, I got us each a
somewhat fluffy towel (New towels went on my mental shopping list) and
dried off, helping each other.

   "I'll be back," she said, bouncing out of the bathroom, naked form
sashaying enticingly.  She returned with a hair dryer and a brush.  "Good
thing this place has two sinks," she said.  "I claim this one."

   "It's yours," I said, lathering up for a shave.

   She had the dryer going, brushing, blowing, spreading the sweet perfume
of her shampooed hair through the room.  I finished my shave, stood behind
her, put my hands on her waist.

   "Help me with the back," she said, handing me the brush.

   "Never done this before," I said.  I brushed.  "Gimme the dryer." Her
hair transformed from dark wetness to copper sheen.  Adorable.  I said so.

   "You're adorable, too, Stoney.  You float my boat." Two naked people in
love fit together well.  For a second.

   I scooped her into my arms and carried her out of the bathroom.

   "Bedroom," she said.  "Got one more run on that honeymoon thing."

   I could tell from her stride that she was experiencing what I was:
muscle soreness from unaccustomed physical activity.  I suspected that she
might have more than a sore muscle or two, as well.

   "SO what if I can hardly walk tomorrow," she said.  "None of their
business."

   "It's not too late to hit a jewelry store for a couple of rings, you
know," I said.

   "You're right.  Should've thought of that earlier.  Let's hurry.  They
ought to have plain bands in stock in most sizes."

   We hit the big mall and left a dent in a credit card and walked out with
two little black velvet boxes.  Back at the apartment, it was just after
nine and we'd had good amount of time to recharge, but she was kneeling in
the middle of the bed.  "Put mine on me," she said.  "And I'll do yours."

   A serious moment in an unconventional marriage.  I gazed into her eyes
as I slid the little gold circle onto her finger.  "Johanna Elise, I am
yours.  You and I, here, just as well be the cathedral downtown, but I am
no less yours, no less permanently, no less happily." And I kissed her.

   "Stoney, you have a way of repeating my thoughts, my love." She took my
hand, sliding my ring on.  "We will go out tomorrow with these tokens that
we're married, but the real sign is the way my heart beats for you." She
smiled.  "Some people would say we're being corny, you know.  But Stoney, I
really feel that way about us."

   "I do too, Jo."

   "You're really going to wear your ring tomorrow?  To work?"

   "Yes I am.  And when people ask, I'm going to tell them that I'm married
to you."

   "Me too," she said.  "And I bet more people ask me than ask you."

   "Key?"

   "Oh yeah.  If she takes a break from Hutch, she'll have me Tweeted and
Facebooked and everything." She was working my belt buckle with her
fingers.

   "Let me get that," I said.

   "Okay." She slid off the bed and stripped.  We both grabbed the covers
and tossed them to the foot of the bed, meeting each other in the middle,
clinging, kissing exploring, fondling.  "Mmmm.  You smell good, Stoney."

   "I clean up pretty well.  I didn't think about that Friday.  I could've
showered before we went to the boat."

   "Might not have made it to the boat, guy."

   "Really?"

   "Stoney, I love you to pieces.  I will spend the rest of my life with
you.  But you were moving too slowly.  I was afraid that if I broke the
subject of marriage to you, you'd think I meant one of those long
engagements and a 'princess for a day' wedding and crap like that.  I
wanted you.  And you wanted me."

   "But this weekend?"

   "If I thought it was just this weekend, or a short-term thing, Stoney, I
wouldn't have been your girlfriend.  Not like we were.  I sort of had a
feeling that you were in love with me."

   "Since the first time we walked down the street together."

   "I'm glad it was on the boat.  No distractions.  Just me and my mate,"
she said.

   "I adore you," I said.  "And if I was being tentative, it's because you
are too impossibly adorable.  I was so worried that you'd realize that I
was too old and too messed up."

   "Never," she said, her arms around my neck, her forehead touching mine.
"But I just didn't want to wait any longer, Stoney.  Not after I determined
that you were the one." She smiled.  "But now we're married and you smell
good and I want to eat you up."

   "And I want to eat you up as well," I said, ducking my head to take a
nipple between my lips.  It sprang to erection under my tongue.

   "Ohgodyesssss!" she hissed.  "Your mouth.  Do it to me with your mouth.
All of it!" I did.  She did.  Again and again.  Squealed.  I ended up with
her in my arms, kissing her face with little soft kisses until her hand
held my head still and her lips met mine.  "Lay back, lover," she said. 
"My turn."

   I was plenty male enough to not even think about stopping her as she
turned sideways in our bed, her hand holding my hard dick in her hand.  The
first touch of hot breath on it made me gasp.  "I like this," she giggled.
"I hold this part of you and I know you trust me.  And I've got such power
over you." Her head bobbled sexily as she pushed her lips down over the
head, then pulled back.

   "You've got me that way, too, Jo."

   Giggle.  "I know." Suck.  "I could control you." Suck.  "But I don't
want to control you.  I want to love you." And she went to work, sucking,
licking, worshipping my rod.  Her head bobbed up.  "Question," she said.

   "Anything," I answered.

   "Can I bite you?  Just a little."

   "Just be careful.  The head's..."

   She kissed the subject part.  "Much more sensitive.  So soft.  Mmmmmm."
Her stroking hand pulled forth a little stream of clear fluid.  "This.  I
love this," she said, lapping it up with a bit of show.

   "Look out, little one, you've got me primed for a big one."

   She moved between my legs.  "I like this.  This is the way you do me."
She scooted up, arched her neck and I watched my length disappear into her
mouth.  Every sense I possessed was tuned into what Jo was doing to me, and
I could feel the effects already.  Then she bit.  Not hard, just enough to
where I knew she was biting and her "Mmmmmm" told me that she knew she was
biting.  I felt my balls draw up, her fingertips on them passing that data
to her.  Another "mmmmm" and a head bob and her tongue cupped the underside
of the head of my dick.

   A spasm wracked me as the first surge came, answered by a happy little
"Mmmph!" and a gulp as she swallowed.  And kept swallowing and sucking,
even as I emptied.  Finally it just got too much.

   "Ohpleasestop!" I blurted.

   "DId I hurt you?"

   "No, darling, it's just too much."

   "But I'm not finished.  I'll be careful."

   "It's yours."

   She took me into her mouth as I softened, a little suction, her tongue
softly massaging.  I marveled at the galaxies of the universes I passed
through.  I passed through the flaccid, sensitive phase and started
hardening again.

   "I doin' magic down here," she said.

   "Yes, magic."

   "Raisin' the dead." A bit more sucking and I was completely hard and she
was straddling me.  "I like this position," she said as she guided me into
her.

   I was able to restrain myself this time, right up until she started
shaking through her own orgasm, her lips locked into mine, keeping her
little keening sounds between us.

   "IloveyouStoneydon'tevenmove," she sighed.

   "Gonna be a mess, baby."

   "Let there be a mess this time.  I'm dead.  I want to be resurrected in
your arms."

   Somewhere in the night we turned out lights and pulled up blankets and
slept completely nude.  When the alarm went off in the morning, I had to go
to work.  And it was the most difficult time I'd ever had, deciding to
leave the bed, because after a kiss, Johanna slid down my torso and wrapped
her arms around my waist and held me.



   ------

   Chapter 17

   Mark it on your calendar.  Today's a first for me.  The first time I
ever woke up to a work week with my partner.  The alarm went off and I did
not want to get out of bed because when the music started, Jo slid down and
wrapped her arms around my waist, purring.

   "I really don't want to leave, sweetness," I said.  "But I have work to
go do."

   "Mmmm, I know, baby.  I have a class at nine, too."

   "Let's just do what we have to do.  At the end of the day, though, we
come home together."

   Sigh.  "Yes we do, baby," she said.

   I got a kiss when I climbed out of bed, another and a hug before I
headed out the door.  And then I was at work.

   I didn't make a show of my new ring.  Didn't take long to get noticed.
Made it all the way to the Monday morning staff meeting.

   "Hey, wait a minute!  That's a wedding band!" Brad snorted.  "When you
left last week I thought you were going to spend the weekend on your boat."
He said it loud enough to catch the ears of several others.

   "You caught me.  I knew I should've gotten a stealth wedding band."

   "Anybody we know?"

   "Not likely.  D'you think that if I married somebody here it would be
any kind of a secret?"

   Brad's eyes flashed as thought patterns connected.  "Hee-eeyyyy!  Last
time we talked you were seeing that college girl.  Her?"

   I smiled.  "I am the husband of Johanna Elise Solheim Jackson," I said.

   "And you just broke several hearts that were hoping to snag you,"
Jennie, our Documents Manager, said.  Jennie was married, but she had a
bunch of friends who weren't.  I'd dated some of them.  Some even twice. 
Wasn't anybody I considered a keeper in the whole herd.  Jennie was just
about jaded enough to understand what I meant when I told her I was begging
out of the dating scene for a while.

   "Okay," she said, "I know you have pictures.  Trot 'em out."

   "Step into my office.  The good ones are on my computer," I said.  I saw
Brad start to open his mouth.  "And Brad, get yer mind outta the gutter."

   "Yeah, Brad!" Jennie said.

   I pulled up a picture of Jo on my big monitor, full-screen.  It was one
of my favorite shots from the first time on the boat, a close-up of her
face, showing the blue eyes, the freckles, the smile, that red hair wisping
across one cheek.

   "Shit!" Jennie said.  "No wonder!  That's a stunning young lady. 
College, Brad says?"

   "Graduating in the spring.  Business and music majors.  When she plays
the flute the choirs in heaven stop and listen." I connected with Jennie's
eyes.  "Seriously.  She's a soloist with the university orchestra.  Has
been talking with the Symphony."

   "Wow!" Jennie said.  "So that's what it took."

   "Yes, that's what it took," I said.  "But I appreciate your trying."

   "Thank you.  I wish my motives were as pure as you act like they are,"
she laughed.

   Several people dropped by my office during the day as word worked
around. Lot of smiles.  Lot of congratulations.  And naturally, several
'you'll be sorry's' and 'what are you thinking's'.  But that's just guys. I
knew many of their wives and I knew that one of the 'you'll be sorry' bunch
was happily married with a kid in high school and one in middle school.

   Lunch was the sandwich shop around the corner.  That was the plan.  A
phone call altered it.

   Jo.  "You goin' to the sandwich shop for lunch?"

   "That's the plan," I said.  "Where are you?"

   "Just stepping out of class.  Not to intrude, but I could meet you for
lunch."

   "Sweetie, that's no intrusion.  You're the big news today.  I don't mean
to put you on exhibit, but if you show up, expect stares.  Comments, too.
And some of my co-workers wouldn't know sensitivity if it walked up and bit
'em in the butt."

   "I think I can handle whatever they want to dish, baby," she said.  "I
already had a taste at class."

   "Okay, then, sweetness, I'll see you there at eleven thirty."

   "'Kay, baby.  I love you."

   "Love you too, princess," I said.

   "I heard that," Brad hollered.  "I wanna meet 'er."

   "If you can restrain your baser instincts," I said.

   "I, sir, am a college graduate engineer.  I HAVE no baser instincts!" he
laughed.

   "Yeah, I know, dude," I laughed.  "And Jo needs to see the adverse
conditions under which I labor," I laughed.  We went back to work for
another hour until we were close enough to lunch, then streamed out.  I
couldn't shake Brad.  I know that several others were headed in that
direction out of curiosity.

   Phone rang.  "That's her!" Brad said, hearing the flute snippet that was
Jo's special ringtone.  "Hi, baby!" I said.

   "Hi!" said the happy reply.  "I got us a table.  Four okay?"

   "Yeah.  I have Brad with me.  The rest of them can have a fistfight over
who gets the last chair."

   "Oh, that's just NEAT!" Brad said.  "She shows up and saves you a
table."

   "Your wife could do it," I said.

   "Yeah.  Let's see how that goes.  'Honey, get out of the office and go
save me a table.  That dick of a lawyer you work for won't mind!' And when
she gives me that look, I say 'But Stoney's wife does it for him.'"

   "Make sure you whine a little when you do it," I said.  When we checked
in with the cashier, a lady who knew us from our frequent visits, she said,
"She's back there in the corner.  You better hurry before we have a riot
over that table."

   We weaved our way through the burgeoning lunch crowd, Me, Brad, Jennie
having caught up with us.  Jo stood, said, "Hi my Stoney," and kissed me a
quick one.  She turned to Brad and Jennie.  "I'm Jo.  Stoney's wife.  I
suppose..."

   "Hon, it's the news item of the day," Jennie said.  "I'm Jennie.

   "I'm Brad," Brad said, offering his hand.  "I saw this coming weeks
ago."

   "Are you two...  ?" Jo started.

   Jennie laughed as she sat.  "Oh, gosh, no!  There's not enough alcohol
in the world.  I'm the Documents Manager.  He's got a wonderful, it not
horribly deluded, wife.  I've got a husband that is learning after a decade
and a half that I am a goddess."

   Jo giggled.  "Sorry.  You two just looked so happy..."

   "That's because we didn't have to wait for a table," Brad said.  "This
place fills up fast."

   "I saw that," Jo said.

   "And just so Mizz Jennie knows she's been doing it wrong, Stoney already
thinks you're a goddess."

   Jo smiled.  "I suspected as much, but I don't like to brag.  How did you
arrive at that conclusion?"

   "Oh," Brad smiled, "for weeks his office is an altar to this redheaded
thing.  Jo wallpaper on his computer.  Pictures of Jo on his wall."

   "I have the same thing.," Jo said.  "My roommate thinks I went crazy,
but good crazy.",

   "Uh, yeah," Jennie answered.  "Stoney's been dodging women ever since
I've known 'im."

   "That's what he says," Jo smiled.  "Nice to hear it from somebody who's
known him for a while."

   "Yeah," Brad said.  "I don't know that I would have exercised as much
self-restraint."

   Jo glanced at me with a twinkle in her eye.  Smiled.

   "Stoney goes on about your music," Brad said.

   "Oh, he's not bad himself.  We cross genres like nobody's business."

   "We?" Brad blurted.

   "Yeah.  You didn't know he plays banjo?"

   "Uh, that's not on his curriculum vitae on the company website," Brad
answered.

   "See, Brad, Stoney's hiding things from his co-workers," Jennie said.

   Jo fixed me.  "Honey, as good as you are, you didn't tell them?"

   "Uh, baby," I said, "in a lot of circles proficiency on a banjo ranks
right up there with marrying your cousin in things you want to tell
people."

   She giggled and my co-workers smiled.  "You should hear him.  And I have
'im playing Mozart."

   "Last time I looked, Mozart didn't write any banjo parts," Jennie said.
"I know a bit about music.  Maybe that part escaped me."

   "No, you're right," Jo said.  "But I gave him sheet music for the harp
part of Mozart's Concerto for Flute and Harp and asked him to try.  He's
actually doing it.  Pretty impressive."

   "Oh, really?" Jennie said.  "I'd almost want to hear that."

   "Not ready for prime time," I said.  "Jo is a very good teacher.  She
makes me play better.  But she smiles and encourages."

   "And I'd talk about you like a dog?  Oh, come on, Stoney, you know me
better than that."

   "Jo does quite well in a concert hall," I said.  To Jo I said, "I caught
some screen captures from your Austin concert.  You know which ones."

   "My spouse is a video voyeur," Jo giggled.  "Yeah, it's still kind of
scary standing up for a solo."

   "You're going to do that for the Veteran's Day concert, though," I said.

   Jennie questioned, "What are you going to solo on, dear?"

   Jo smiled.  "Only ONE thing that I've been wanting to do.  It's the
Piccolo lead in Stars and Stripes Forever.  That reminds me, Stoney, I need
to borrow your dress uniform jacket."

   "Oh?"

   "Yes.  Last year when I did it, I had Dad's dress blues coat.  This
year, it's you.  I know you still have it."

   "Oh, that's cute, Jo," Brad said.  "You know, I need to see that."

   I knew about the concert.  This was the first I'd heard about her
wearing my coat.  Made me feel good.  Nerd guys in high school didn't have
athletic team letter jackets, so I missed that whole schtick.  Jo and I
were both well past that stage.  But this, her, her music, a concert, and
she had a choice.  She could've done her dad's coat with a colonel's
eagles. Instead, my first lieutenant's silver bars.

   After lunch we parted ways with a kiss and I trooped back to the office
with Brad and Jennie and a dozen others who I had to introduce to Jo.  She
left with a smile on her face.  Typical Jo.  The only time she really
wasn't smiling was the day I had to shut David down.  I wasn't the only one
to notice.

   "She's a doll," Jennie said.  "That smile.  I'd die for that hair.  Is
that it, Stoney?  You just had high standards for looks?"

   "Nope," I said.  "I had no standards.  She just ...  I dunno.  We were
like a couple of magnets.  Got close and -click- and it's been that way for
the last few weeks."

   "Hope it stays that way, Stoney.  Really I do.  And I can throw that
list away."

   "List?" I asked.

   "Oh, yeah," she laughed.  "I had some good ones lined up.  But ain't
none of 'em anything like the one you got."

   "Ain't nobody I ever met that comes close to being like Johanna," I
said. "Completely snuck through my radar."

   "Well good for you," she said.  "Really.  Is she gonna do that lunch
thing very often?"

   "I dunno," I said.  "I guess if it doesn't interfere with classes or
whatever.  Mondays might be a possibility.  I'll talk to 'er."

   "Yeah," Brad said.  "I like how that worked out.  Plus, she's a whole
lot prettier to look at than you are."

   "Uh," I said, knowing I had him in my sights, "what about Jennie?"

   "Yeah, asshole," Jennie said.  "What about me?  I'm what?  Chopped
liver?"

   "Yeah, Brad!  Jen's been the house cutie for years.  All those cute
young temps come and go, and ol' Jen here just keeps plodding along.  Plus,
she's got a brain."

   "Thanks, I think, Stoney," Jennie said.

   Back at the office, I went back into the project.  Work is easy to get
lost in.  I look at lines and numbers on drawings and imagine the hardware
that goes with them.  And in this case the exotic environs of Central
America where they'll be used.  Makes the day fly.  Quitting time came and
I found a good stopping point, grabbed my computer bag and headed out the
door.  Gone were the days of hanging around shooting the breeze.  I had a
hundred and ten pounds of redheaded incentive waiting on me at home.

   I was on the phone as I walked through the parking garage.

   "Hey, guy!" she said.  "Did I embarrass you at lunch?"

   "Hardly," I said.  "You made a great impression on everybody."

   "I hope so.  Hurry home.  I found stuff.  I'm cooking!"

   "Cooking?"

   "Yeah, you know?" she giggled.  "Cans.  Ingredients.  Fire.  Pots. 
FOOD!"

   "What are you cooking?"

   "It's a surprise," she told me.  "If you hate it, I'll throw it out, cry
a little, and then you can take me out to eat."

   "I married me a domestic goddess," I laughed.

   "Only a minor goddess," she retorted.  "You had cans and boxes and I
know you eat soup."

   I tried to maintain some mellow while navigating through rush hour
traffic.  I was only partially successful.  I parked in a 'to whom it may
concern' slot at the apartment and walked to the door.  It was locked. 
Home invasions were in the news.  They'd at least have to break in, and I
kept a few surprises around the house.  Reminds me.  I need to see where Jo
falls out on self-defense.

   The sound of my key in the lock meant that when I opened the door, a
happy Johanna clad in T-shirt and gym shorts was almost there.  Squealing!

   "Honey, I'm HOME!" I said in amongst the flurry of kisses.

   She giggled happily.  "I looked all over for one of those 'June Cleaver'
frilly aprons, but I couldn't find one here.  This'll have to do!" she
stepped back, bent a knee and held her arms out, posing.

   "Good Lord, that's perfect!" I said.  "And this is the first meal anyone
else ever made here." I drew a breath.  "And you're ...  you're perfect!"

   Giggle.  "Glad you think so, Stoney!  Go get into something comfortable.
Dinner will be ready in a bit."

   Silly me, thinking I was going into the bedroom by myself to change
clothes.  I had help at the task that I never imagined even in the
hormone-addled dreams of my adolescence.

   "I'm supposed to be changing clothes, you!" I protested.

   "SO put a 'pause' statement in the sub-routine," she giggled.  "Surely a
respected engineer understands these things."

   "I understand that you have entirely too much clothing in place for the
natural outcome of this exercise," I stated.

   Giggle.  And naked, she squealed when I rolled her backward onto the
bed. Man, it's good having somebody as pretty and happy and eager as Jo. 
Of course it has the down-side of leaving you all sticky and satisfied when
you finally do pull on some sweat pants and get to the dinner table.

   "Well, how is it?" she asked.

   "Delicious," I said.  I was savoring a thick, hearty soup and a chunk of
fresh bread.

   "I like that bakery.  It smells sooo good," she said.  "I though, fresh
bread.  Soup.  I can do this."

   "You did good.  So what else happened today?"

   "Oh my gosh," she said.  "A million questions about my ring."

   "And?" I asked.

   "And I told them that I got married this weekend.  To YOU." She smiled.
"Outside the orchestra bunch, nobody knows you from Adam, so I had to show
them your picture." She knew what I wanted to ask, but wouldn't.  "Yes,
Stoney, I got a few questions about your scar.  Told them that I had no
problem with it, that, you were more than a pretty face and that I found
you utterly charming and distinguished."

   "See!" I said.  "That scar..."

   "Is not a problem to me, Stoney.  Not from Day One.  Let other people
get hung up on it.  I don't.  Have I?"

   "No, little one."

   "Good!  Now Monday night is practice night with a bunch of us.  Do you
mind?  We're going to my old apartment."

   "Okay.  I got stuff I can do here," I said.

   "Yah, right.  You're coming with me.  We're newlyweds.  No more time
apart when we have a choice." She smiled.  "And bring your banjo."

   "You're kidding, right?" I said.

   "Nope.  Not a bit!  I wanna show 'em you playing that harp part with
me."

   "You're REALLY kidding..."

   "Not even a little bit.  Come on.  We'll have fun with it."

   "Okay then," I said.  "But I'm sensitive."

   "And I will defend YOU like you defended me." She smiled.  "Besides, I
have this whole new way to assuage your tender feelings."

   That is called 'incentive', I'm told.

   We did as she wished.  Key welcomed us along with several others for a
session that was as much social as it was actually dedicated to practice.
"Okay, Stoney.  I know you wouldn't bring that banjo unless Jo told you to.
What gives?"

   "You might think incorrectly of the banjo," Jo said.  "Stoney's playing
the harp part of the Mozart Concerto for Flute and Harp."

   "Really?  I gotta hear that," she said.  The others said the same.

   "We're up, then, Stoney.  Break it out," Jo said.

   "This is a first," I said.  "I don't play for anybody else."

   "Except me," Jo said.  "So you guys be nice.  Stoney's bashful."

   "I am," I said.

   "Weren't bashful with David over Jo," came a comment.

   "Incentive," I replied.  I uncased my instrument.  "Now don't be
frightened, people.  Jo and I are in no way related, so I don't want to
hear any 'inbred' jokes."

   That got snickers and giggles.

   "Here's a note," Jo said, bringing the flute to her lips and playing a
tone.  She sustained while I quickly tuned, then the next and the next. 
Five strings.  Completed, I rolled into a little bluegrass break.

   "Oh, shit, Jo, he's got that sound DOWN!"

   "Let 'im play some a'that," Key said.

   "Jo," I said, "Sing with me!" and I rolled into the intro of 'Rollin my
Sweet Baby's Arms".  Jo and I had done that one several times together,
ending up laughing in each other's arms, so I knew she knew it.  She sat
down beside me, eyes bright, smiling, and we sang.

   After it was over, Jo said, "Okay, now serious stuff!" She put the sheet
music in front of me.  "Third Movement.  One - Two - Three." 'Four' was the
first note from her flute and I dove in with her.  Played like it was for
her and her alone, just like the evenings on the boat or in my apartment.
Check that!  OUR apartment.  We played a couple of dozen bars.  "Next
passage," Jo said.  She was hitting the highlights, and not just the flute
highlights, but the harp passages as well, forcing me to to stretch, and
when the parts merged, I played my heart out, a duet with the love of my
life.

   "Okay," she said to the bunch.  "Satisfied?"

   The male second trumpet, now first trumpet since David was still not
back up to speed, said, "I thought you were joking.  That's pretty good!"

   "Thank you," I said.

   "It WAS good, Stoney," Key said.  "I thought when Jo went on about you
that she was just bein' all goo-goo eyed."

   "That's a thought," I laughed.  "Jo all goo-goo eyed."

   "She has been, you know," one of the other girls said.  "We never saw
her like this."

   "Y'all practice.  I got a book on my iPad," I said.  I caught Jo's look.
She was smiling for me.

   An hour into it, they stopped for a break.  Key handed me my banjo. 
"You're the musical interlude, dude," she said.  "An' Hutch'll be here in a
bit.  He's working late getting ready for an audit at the bank."

   "Uh-huh," I said.  "He's already stretching it with you and all these
high-brows.  When he walks in and you have a white dude playin' banjo in
HIS living room, he's gonna haul butt!"

   "Play, white boy," she laughed.  "There's enough a'this to keep Hutch
comin' around."

   So I sat there and played.  I thought I might be able to get Jo in on
another one, so I played the intro of Salty Dog Blues.  It worked.

   "Waitwaitwait," the trumpet player said.  "Banjo, that's usually in the
key of G, right?"

   "Uh-huh.  Can't get nothin' past you real musicians," I said.

   "Start over," he said.  "Lemme see what I can do."

   "Can't do nuthin', " I said, flattening my accent to something from deep
in the piney woods.  "Bluegrass don't got trumpets."

   "If Mozart can go on a banjo, then bluegrass can come from a trumpet,"
he countered.

   "Okay, then," I said.  "Just jump in where you feel like.  Open is a G,
this is a C, and this is a D.  Ready?"

   A nod affirmed.  I started, Jo stepped in, and he played along,
tentative on the first two verses, but by the third he was in there adding
to it.  And the room was a riot.

   "Bob's gonna hear about this," somebody said.  "Stoney punched out the
first trumpet player, now he's converting the next one to bluegrass."

   "Yeah, Stoney," Key said.  "What you got against trumpet players?"

   The crowd broke up at a quarter to nine and amid happy noises and good
wishes we left.

   "That's fun," Jo said.  "One thing about you, Stoney.  You hold your own
in a crowd."

   "You do too, redhead," I said.

   "Yeah, but they're MY crowd.  Classmates.  We're used to each other. 
You, they only barely know."

   "They're decent people, baby.  I do well with decent people.  And we
have music in common, but more importantly, we have YOU in common.  You
like me.  So they like me."

   "They enjoyed the music.  Especially Barry.  He has fun with his
trumpet. He's pretty good, too."

   "Got kind of adventurous to play along with us.  Did I embarrass you
asking you to sing?"

   "No," she said, smiling.  "I was singing to you and I don't care who
watches.  And when I play, now I play for you, Stoney."

   "You flatter me, princess," I said.

   "I'm planning more than flattery, Stoney.  We need showers."

   "Showers?  Like in yours, then mine?"

   "Oh, no, babe," she squealed.  "ONE shower.  Two bodies.  And I just
took my last pill this month.  So I'm out of commission for a few days."

   "Okay," I said.  "I'm relieved.  I thought you didn't like showering
together."

   "Oh, there may be a time.  And I like a tub bath every now and then,
too. But NO!.  'Shower' means me and you."

   Inside the apartment we did our showers and post-shower routines and
ended up in each other's arms, the house dark except for the bedside lamp.
I was expended and Jo was sweetly curled against me.  I stretched to turn
off the lamp.

   "By the way, baby," she said, "Mom and Dad will be in Thursday.  And we
need to get a marriage license.  Can you get out tomorrow afternoon?"

   "I can," I said.  "They owe me."

   "Good." Kiss.  "I love you."

   "I love you too, princess." Her breathing lulled me to sleep.

   After lunch she and I spent two hours standing in line to get a marriage
license.  Giggle.  "At least I'm worth fifty bucks," she said.

   "Cheap.  I know places where a girl of your obvious charms would have
cost a couple of camels and a dozen goats."

   "I'll ask Dad," she said.  "He may hold out for a nice German sports
car."

   "I may haggle," I said.  She punched my shoulder.  "Or not.  You're
worth at least a bottom-end BMW."



   ------

   Chapter 18

   Jo is ticklish on the bottoms of her feet.  A lot of people are, I know,
but finding that a fingertip dragged gently down the sole of her foot
leaves her uncontrollably giggly and therefor perfect for scooping into
one's arms for loving.  Monday was the previously discussed informal
practice session.  Tuesday was the real thing at the music department. 
Still, Jo is a responsible sort and we missed nothing of her schedule.  So
am I.

   She's an accomplished musician, and that translates to practice.  Every
evening.  And that means that I practice with her a bit.  That's part of
the creation of the 'us' in our brand new marriage.  Also, I have the rare
privilege of attending to domestic chores to the strains of a concert-grade
flute in my ears.

   And beware when the music stops.  Barefoot in the house, Jo is stealthy
and I am an easy capture.

   So it's Friday and I'm off work and Jo's parents are in town.  I wish my
own mom and dad were still around to see Jo.  In my mind I can hear their
voices of approval.  I stand by myself here.  Only child.  Not that close
to cousins in the first place and hundreds of miles away if they did know
and cared to attend.  It's me and Jo and her parents.

   And a few friends.  We snagged the community hall at the apartment where
I lived.  Jo called on a friend who knew a friend who knew a minister who'd
do a wedding like ours, just one non-denominational step from a civil
ceremony.  Okay, so I invited Brad, for sure, and since she sort of needed
to witness it, Jennie, and a couple of other denizens of the engineering
warren.  Jo's contribution included Key, of course, accompanied by Hutch.
"I'm hoping he'll take the hint," she opined.  There were promises from a
couple of others.

   Friday I got out a bit early, trading off a previous late night of mad
engineering for a little time to go home and get ready to meet Jo's parents
in the final twenty-four hours before I became their registered son in law.
So I went home to my wife.  Walked in the door.  She was sitting sideways
on the sofa with a textbook.

   "Honeymoon's over, I guess."

   "Not even.  This is the last economics course I need, and we'll have a
mid-semester test next week.  And if I jump up and get too excited, we'll
just be miserable.  I have another day or two on my period."

   "Understood," I said.  "But if I don't move fast and keep my hands to
myself, can I get at least a chaste little kiss?"

   Her eyes twinkled as she smiled.  "Oh, of course.  I'm sorry.  I find
this course a horrible drudge.  What is it you said about bean-counters
being a scourge upon the universe?"

   "Right there with lawyers and government regulators," I said.  "And my
baby's a business major."

   "Double major, sir, thank you very much," she said.  "And don't you
forget it or I will bop you with my flute!" Giggle.

   I walked over to the sofa, bent down and kissed the crown of that red
head, then gently massaged her shoulders and neck.

   "Heard from my in-laws?" I asked.

   "Oh, yes.  They have landed, en route to the hotel, we are expected at
the restaurant at 1900 hours.  Mom assured me that due to TSA, Dad has made
the trip totally bereft of instruments of mayhem."

   "Which means that he intends to dismember me with a steak knife."

   "What!?!"she giggled, "And turn his beloved daughter into a widow? 
Hardly.  I shall be suitably indulged." With a loud thump, the econ book
hit the floor.  "Press on me and kiss me and possess me, Stonewall
Jackson!"

   "Oh well, there goes the self-restraint," I said as I complied.  Her
hands cradled the back of my head, lining me up for kisses.  One of us had
to keep track of the time.  I wanted a shower before going out to eat.  I
mentioned it.

   Giggle.  "Okay." A few more kisses.  "Let's go shower."

   "Okay!" I said, thinking I sounded like an excited little boy sometimes
since I've been around Jo.  I stood up., caught her when she stood, kissed
her.

   "I didn't know what I was missing, not having you, Stoney," she said.

   "You are so darned perfect, Jo," I said.

   "Because I worship you?" she asked.

   "That would be one of the signs," I said.

   "And you worship me," she retorted.

   "Absolutely."

   "Then we absolutely must be married," she said.  She pushed me back
towards the hall and the shower.  "Wash me, guy."

   The hot water was running by the time we got undressed and I stopped to
gaze at the neat example of femininity before me.  She saw me looking. 
"Diana, the Huntress," I said.  "Or some Celtic-Norse version"

   "Freya," she said.  "But I always pictured Norse goddesses as being a
bit more on the hefty, big-breasted side."

   "Okay, then you're a Celtic forest nymph."

   "Whatever I am, I'm yours."

   "Good!" I said.  "I've aways wanted to be married to a supernatural
creature."

   Soapy and wet is a pleasant way to play, but Jo pushed my hands away
from her pussy.  "Period.  Yuck!  Soon enough, baby," she said.

   "Yeah, but you get to play with mine," I said.

   "Nope.  You gave it to me.  It's mine." She was still in the curiosity
mode about how I worked, lovingly stroking and squeezing me to hardness. 
But no further.

   We finished the shower and got out and took care of the rest of the
ritual.  She shoved some cologne in my direction.  "I like this on you,"
she said.  "And not just your face." She gave me a wicked grin.  I know
what she wanted.  I put a dab on my own pubic swell.  She handed me the
hairbrush.  "Here!  Do the back!"

   Like giving a kid candy.  I loved the color, the shine, the clean smell
right after a shower, the 'bunny rabbit' smell at the end of the day.  I
brushed, finally got overcome by the whole idea, nuzzled my nose through
her hair to the back of her neck.

   "Stoppit!  You KNOW what that does."

   "Yeah," I laughed.  "I do.  Like you don't know a dozen things that do
the same to me."

   "And if we take off down that path we'll be late for dinner.  Besides, I
want ...  I can't."

   "Okay, princess.  Let's get dressed." That precipitated a flurry of
activity ending with Jo in a blouse and a flared skirt and me in slacks and
a business shirt.  The restaurant where we would meet her folks was in the
upper tier of informal destinations.  We'd fit in nicely as were were.

   She touched my face.  "Baby," I said, "Are you sure we should be wearing
rings?  Isn't that sort of rubbing their noses in this?"

   "Nope.  I want them to know I'm ...  we're serious," she said.  "We'll
take them off before the ceremony tomorrow, then it's never coming off
again.  Never."

   "Then kiss me and let's go," I said.  "I like my ring.  And my Jo."

   We walked into the restaurant just like the first time I'd met her mom
and dad, Jo hanging onto my arm, smiling.  Anders rose from his seat.  I
shook his hand.  "Anders.  Bridgette.  How are you this evening?"

   "We're fine," Bridgette said.  "Both of us.  And my daughter looks
happy. So how is my son?"

   "Sit, son," Anders said.

   "Yessir," I replied.

   "Stoney, it's not an order.  And relax.  We're happy.  A bit surprised
at the timing, but happy." He smiled.

   "Really, Dad?" Jo asked.  "That's soooo important to me," she said, her
voice sounding almost like a six-year-old with a home-made greeting card.

   "Johanna Elise," Bridgette said, "had we other opinions, do you not
think we would have told you?  Have I not?  In the past?"

   "No, Mom," she said.  "But Stoney just popped up on my screen and
knocked me over.  I don't want to do without him."

   "I was the same way with your father, dear," Bridgette said.  "Your
grandmother fretted over all the imagined stereotypes of dashing American
military officers leading tender girls astray.  On her deathbed she
admitted that she was wrong and that she'd wasted a large portion of the
joy in her life worrying about me.  I am not going to make that mistake."

   "Thank you," I said.  "I am a long way past the 'dashing' part anyway."

   Anders has a wry smile.  He used it on us.  "I question that, Stoney. 
The first time you went out in public with my daughter you went to her aid
in what I consider to be a quite dashing manner." He paused.  "Measured. 
But dashing, nonetheless.  Bridgette and I discussed it quite extensively."

   "How so?" I asked.  "I don't see much to discuss."

   "The facts, son, that after that incident you recoiled back to an
apparently stable and genteel demeanor.  Johanna tells us of your lives
twining together.  Who you speak with, the manner of conversations, how you
two spend idle time, music, life.  You do not appear to be given to
reckless adventure."

   "Hardly," I said.  "I've got some friends who are into, as they call it,
'extreme sports'.  I don't..."

   "One day in Iraq was extreme enough." His steel-blue eyes read me like a
book, a skill transmitted to his daughter.

   "Yessir," I said.  I know that Jo caught the little shudder as that
group of memories played through my head.  He caught it.  "Jo explained to
us what she saw from that day.  Stoney, you're not the only man to have
those effects, and..."

   "I have held my own husband, Stoney," Bridgette said.  "He can recite
the name and rank and hometown and family of ever man in his command who
fell.  It's a heavy thing, to be sure.  But that same character that makes
those faces come back is that character that has kept him by my side
through all the moves and the trials and exertions of life." She smiled at
Jo.  "A mother can never be sure, but with the announcement that she has
chosen you, I relaxed because I seem to have passed on to my daughter that
which my mother passed on to me."

   Jo started to speak.  "Wait, Jo," Anders said.  "Stoney, what the two of
us are saying is that despite the startling manner in which our daughter
reported your marriage as being a fait accompli, we are more than happy
with the outcome.  Since she started university, Jo had found her own way,
something that caused more than a small amount of fretting and worrying
from Bridgette and I.  As her college career nears an end, we have become
increasingly comfortable with her choices.  Then you came along, the first
reports causing us renewed concern.  We are no longer concerned."

   "I'm glad.  Since I met Jo and got to know her, I cannot imagine
returning to life without her."

   At one o'clock the next afternoon we were all gathered in the
apartment's community room, I in one of my 'respectable engineer' suits,
Johanna breathtakingly beautiful in a shimmering dark green dress with
flowing lines that harkened to cool climes of two different homelands.  The
emerald green set her fiery hair aglow.

   Anders and Brad saw my face as she stood beside her dad.  Brad had to
make a comment: "Damn, Stoney!  You know the reason Northern European women
are so beautiful, huh?"

   Anders and I both looked at him, awaiting the answer.  Anders didn't
know Brad.  I did.  I knew that he was getting ready to drop one on us. 
"Why is that, Brad?" I asked.

   "Because the Vikings didn't bring the ugly ones home with them..."

   Anders clinched his jaw.  At first I thought he was offended, but no, he
was trying NOT to laugh.  Finally he trusted himself to open his mouth
slightly.  "True," he said.  "Absolutely true."

   The rest was a blur.  I remember looking at a radiant face, green-clad,
a simple strand of twisted little blossoms circling a perfect head, eyes,
lips, the constellation of freckles.

   Her mom helped with the make-up.  "Don't touch the freckles," Jo told
her.  "My husband adores them."

   "So does mine," she said.  "We have such oddly perfect mates, do we
not?"

   Perfection was my Johanna as I slipped the ring back onto her finger.

   "You may kiss the bride," the minister said.

   I did.  Just a chaste brush.  If I'd have given in fully to my emotions,
I would have fallen down at the feet and worshipped this goddess.  And I
was wedded to her.  "Two become one flesh," the minister had read from the
old text.  Under my breath I repeated the real vows from the weekend
before: 'and one soul and one spirit'.

   Behind the partition of the community room the caterers had a spread
laid out.

   Music?  Johanna.  Life WAS music.  "We're doing this different," Jo
announced.  "Stoney and I will do our own.  Won't be long.  But Stoney
makes my heart sing."

   We played a duet.  I played and we both sang a couple of happy songs. 
The sound system took over for a waltz.  I danced with my bride.  I danced
with the bride's mother, saw my beautiful apparition of a wife dancing with
her blonde bear of a father.

   In keeping with the low-key theme, we escaped amid cheers, hit my
waiting SUV and were off on the official 'honeymoon', a night at an upscale
hotel an hour's drive away.

   "I promise you, princess, that we will revisit this honeymoon thing," I
told her.

   "And I told you that last weekend on the boat was more magic than any
contrived production we could imagine.  Stoney, this is me.  Johanna.  You
know me.  It's not about the artificial and contrived.  It's about the real
things.  You and I, we are real.  Love.  It's real.  Music.  It's real."

   So we caught a movie.  Giggled.  Hand in hand.  Arm in arm.  Walked
along the coastal levy, feeling the wind coming in off the Gulf, the
humidity like a moist blanket, watching the moonrise.  I only wish she
hadn't changed into her 'Jo uniform': jeans and a long-sleeved shirt,
instead of that diaphanous green dress.  In my mind's eye I saw her
standing with the moon disc at her back, a vision enough to make a man
believe in the Old Gods and the spirits of the forest and glen.

   Everywhere I looked, I put Jo there.  The rocks of the jetty thrusting
out into the waves?  Jo, cross-legged, flute at her lips calling forth the
creatures of the sea, who would marvel and dance at the song.  That little
alcove where the jetty abutted the seawall?  Jo there.  Sitting, feet drawn
up beneath her, arms wrapped around her knees waiting for me with a smile
on her lips, eyes sparkling to put the stars to shame.

   "You're doing it again, Stoney," she said.  "Not the bad one, though. 
The good ones."

   "What?"

   "Thinking.  You went far far away."

   "Just far enough that I could look back and see you from afar," I said.

   "Stoney, you are a poet," she smiled.

   I kissed her.  "I curse myself for not having the words to say what I
feel," I said.

   "This speaks," she said, snuggling into my arms further.  One more long
kiss in the moonlight.  "Let's get back to the room," she said softly.

   "Okay," I said.  I wanted her.  All of her.  One problem, though. 
Period.

   "Stoney, I'm sorry.  It just happens right when we get married."

   "Johanna Jackson," I told her.  "You're more to me than that one part."

   "I know," she said, "but just so YOU know, that part started having
needs since I met you."

   We backtracked up the seawall towards the hotel and crossed the street
in front of one of those waterfront night clubs that was usually filled
with a younger crowd.  Music boomed outward from the place, the verandah
filled with raucous laughter of a partying crowd.  We walked past it and
across the mouth of an alleyway.

   "Eyyyyyyy, chicaaaa!" a Hispanic-accented voice said.

   My antennae went up.  I glanced over.  There were two of them, shorter
than me, husky-looking, side by side, one weaving a little, obviously
drunk.

   "You wanna dump heem an' party with us, I theenk," the other said.

   "She's with me guys," I countered.

   "Jou gonna be outta da peetcher," the first one said.  "Chica gonna be
with us."

   I stepped between them and pushed Jo behind me defensively.  "You guys
need to go somewhere else.  Really!" I said.

   "Whatchu gonna do, pendejo?!?" the more shaky of the two said.  His hand
went into his pocket and came out with a knife.  The click of its blade
springing open sounded like a gunshot.

   "Run!" I hissed at Jo.  She didn't run.  I really didn't have a choice.
I fell to the ground clutching my chest, feigning pain.

   The pair's eyes widened.  Widened even more when I pulled a little
pistol from an ankle holster.  Now things could've changed here and taken a
path to a peaceful resolution.  All they had to do was leave.

   That wasn't the choice the guy with the knife made.  Or maybe he did
make that choice to run but executed it poorly.  He moved in my direction,
Jo's direction, knife still extended in his hand.  I fired.  Twice.  He
took another step.  I fired again.  He folded.  I directed my attention to
his buddy.  That guy ran in the right direction.

   By now Jo had her phone out.  A crowd was pouring out of the club up the
street and I heard sirens in the distance.  Two rather meaty guys pushed
through the increasing crowd.  I stood, leaving my pistol on the ground.

   "Jeez, dude," One of them said.  "You capped 'is ass!"

   "Self defense.  He pulled a knife," I said.  "Don't get over there.  Let
the cops..."

   Flashing lights from behind the crowd told me that the cops were here.
Two of them pushed through the crowd, too.  I held my hands halfway up, in
plain view.

   The first one said.  "9-1-1 call.  A shooting.  Who..." then he saw the
crumpled form on the ground in the shadow.  "You..." he said to me.

   "I can't say anything until I get an attorney, sir.  Jo, please call
your dad and see if he can help." I said this as my hands were placed in
cuffs behind my back.

   "Sir!  Uh, officer!" said one of the beefy dudes from the club.  "Got a
minute?"

   "Are you a witness?" the officer said.

   "No.  You should know me.  I'm a bouncer at the Swordfish Club."

   "What'd'ya want?"

   "That dude over there," he said, pointing to the unmoving form in the
expanding poll of blood, "we tossed him and his buddy out about fifteen
minutes ago.  They were loud and makin' unwelcome advances to some of the
girls."

   "Jerry!" the cop said.  His partner turned around.  "Talk to that other
bouncer." To me he said, "Where's your ID?"

   "Hip pocket.  Wallet.  Drivers' license.  Concealed carry permit."

   He fished the wallet out of my pocket, retrieved the cards.  "Randall
Jackson?  What's your address?"

   I recited it.  I know it's on my documents.  He was doing a quick check
to make sure the wallet was mine.

   Jo was standing there, nervous.  Silent.  Mouth a tight line.  "Ma'am,"
the officer said.  "Do you have ID?"

   She nodded, reached into her jeans pocket and drew a little sheath with
her license in it, presented it.  "It's not correct any more," she said.

   "Not?" He asked.

   "No.  My last name is not Solheim any more.  It's Jackson.  And the
address is wrong.  I just haven't gotten a chance to get them changed."

   "Oh?  How long?  You have thirty days..."

   "I have twenty-nine left," she said quickly.  "We got married this
afternoon."

   "Oh, crap," he said.  "And you come down here for THIS?"

   "Yes," she said.  Her phone rang.  She looked at the officer.  "May I?
It's my father."

   He nodded.

   "Dad?  Yes.  The police are here.  I'm sure they'll take us to the
station." She looked at the officer.  He nodded.  "How long?"

   "You'll be there in half an hour," he said.

   "Half an hour, Dad," she said.  "I can't talk right now.  I love you. 
Tell Mom we're both okay." Pause.  "Yeah, I'll tell 'im.  I love you, Dad!"
she slid the phone back into her pocket.

   "Okay, what happened, Missus Jackson," the officer said.

   Jo carefully related the story.  "The guy pulled a knife.  Stoney, uh
... him.  Randall, went to the ground and came up with that pistol.  The
guy lunged."

   "What about the other guy?"

   "Ran.  That way!" she pointed up the alleyway.

   By now an ambulance had backed up and two harried paramedics were beside
the body.  Yes, it was a body.  The older of the two said to my cop,
"Jimbo, he's headed for ambient temperature."

   Another police unit arrived.  Two more uniformed officers.  'Jimbo'
pointed to the paramedics and the body.  "See if he's got any ID," he
instructed.

   I was subjected to the law enforcement version of 'small talk'.  I knew
better than talk about the situation at hand.  Apparently Jimbo saw that,
so it was the 'where do you work?' and finally...  "That scar?  Sorry if
I'm being too personal."

   "Iraq.  Army.  Bad day."

   "Oh.  I was in the Air Force." SP's (Auth.  Note: 'Security Police', the
Air Force's equivalent to the Army's 'Military Police') "Saw some shit."

   "Saw a bit too much.  From too close," I said.  "You don't want me to
walk through a metal detector." I tried a smile.  Got one back.

   "Just married?  She's pretty."

   "You should see her when she smiles," I said.  "Those two..."

   "Never mind," he said.  "I can understand how you are right now."

   The paramedics were loading the corpse on a gurney.  One of the officers
came up to Jimbo.  "'Bout what you'd expect.  Fake ID.  Hundred and twenty
bucks.  A business card to a construction company."

   "Illegal?" I said.

   "Most likely.  They'll fingerprint 'im for an ID, but who knows what
they'll come up with."

   "Lot of that?" I asked.

   "More than you want to hear about," he said.  "Wish it wasn't so, but
what is, just is." He made a quick survey of the area, came to a decision.
"Look, Mister Jackson..."

   "Stoney, please," I said.

   "Okay, Stoney.  Protocol says you go to the station."

   "What about Jo?" Jo was standing back a step from me, her arms wrapped
around herself.

   "Where were y'all staying?"

   I named the hotel.

   "Hey, Beej," he said to another officer.  "Can you transport Mizz
Jackson to the hotel?" To Jo he said, "Can you drive back to the station?"

   "Yessir," she said.  "When I get there will I be able to see him?"

   "I won't have him in a holding cell, if that's what you mean," he said.
"I'm sorry.  I can't let you ride with us."

   "Okay," she said.  "Stoney, I'll see you there.  Dad's got an attorney
on his way." She turned to follow Beej to the patrol car.

   "Dad?  She says it very confidently."

   "Her dad's a retired colonel.  An executive with a company that does
international security."

   "Sounds scary."

   "Worse," I said.  "He's six-three, two hundred fifty pounds."

   "For her, I'd risk it," he said.

   "I did.  Married 'er." He stepped away, talked with a couple of the
other officers, returned to me.  "We can go to the station.  Turn around. I
think I don't need these." He removed the cuffs.

   I massaged my wrists as I walked to the car.  The ride to the station
was informational.  "I don't think there's any chance you'll be charged,"
he said.

   "Get my gun back?"

   "Probably so.  I'll ask.  Good chance.  First time I ever saw somebody
actually USE one of those ankle holsters," he said.  "Or a .380.  Always
thought they were kinda wimpy."

   "Anything bigger I couldn't put there," I said.  "I didn't want to be
showing.  Helps if you hit what you shoot at."

   "You're kind of callous about it."

   I thought for a second about his comment.  "Probably why they say don't
talk about it with the police until you have your lawyer with you," I said.

   "Oh, sorry.  That came out wrong.  I mean, some people just go to
pieces."

   "They wanted my wife.  No excuse.  No sympathy.  And I gave them a
chance to retreat."

   "All this is off the record," he said.  "I'd've let you walk off if it
was me.  Man's gotta take care of his own."

   At the station they put me through the motions.  Fingerprints.  Photos.
I was sitting beside a desk when I heard Jo's voice cut though the
background noise.

   Jimbo looked up.  "You can go see 'er.  Just don't go anywhere until we
get all the 't's' crossed.

   Twenty minutes later the attorney showed up.  I shook his hand. 
"Richard Bishop," he said.  "You're Anders' brand new son-in-law?"

   "Yessir," I said.  "Randall Jackson."

   "That explains the 'Stoney' thing.  Stonewall, right.  Army?"

   "Guilty," I said.

   "Oh, don't say that word loudly around here.  Look, I just disturbed an
assistant district attorney on the way down here.  You're not being charged
with anything.  There will be an inquest.  Likely you won't be called. 
This is Texas, for Pete's sake, and you have a right to self-defense." He
turned to Jimbo.  "Officer, is there anything else?"

   "Yessir," Jimbo said.  "Here.  Sign this paper and let me get your
pistol."

   "I appreciate you showing up on short notice," I told Richard.

   "Had to.  I owe Anders a few favors," he said.  "And I'm on retainer for
his Texas operations."

   "Well, I still appreciate it, anyway," I said.

   Jo slid up beside me.  "Yes, thank you," she said.

   "Jimbo, ' I said.  "'Preciate the consideration, buddy."

   "Job, Stoney.  Just the job.  Glad you two are okay."

   "Hope the rest of your evening is quiet," I said.

   "Not likely.  Saturday night, midnight.  The real freaks'll get going
any time now."

   "Well, be careful," I said.  Jo and I and Richard walked out of the
station into the parking lot.

   "You gonna be okay?" Richard asked.

   "Sure.  Why?"

   "Some people get all flakey when they realize what happened.  That
somebody's dead."

   "You're the second one tonight to ask me that.  They wanted Jo.  I
would've died first."

   "Baby..." Jo said.

   "It's okay, sweetie," I said.  "Richard, this incident is not a problem,
at least not to me."

   "You're sure?  I can call a doctor.  Get you something."

   I looked at Jo.  "Honey, do you need anything?"

   "No.  But thank you, Richard."

   We got in our car, headed back to the hotel.

   "Stoney, this is me now.  Are you okay?"

   "Yes, my love."

   "Stoney, you saved me."

   "Of course.  What was I supposed to do?  Stand around and let them haul
you off to be raped?"

   "I didn't know you had that pistol..."

   "I carry quite often.  Not at work.  Not in bars and such.  But
tonight..."

   "I'm glad you did.  I didn't know what happened when you grabbed your
chest and fell down."

   "Had to get to that pistol.  They had us."

   "Why don't you use a belt holster?"

   "Baby, did you even know that I had that pistol?"

   "No.  Why didn't you tell me?"

   "I was afraid..."

   "You were AFRAID?  Of what, Stoney?  That I'd get all girlie on you and
get the vapors or something?"

   "Okay.  I should've talked to you..."

   "You're darned straight you should've talked to me.  I just had the crap
scared out of me because I though those two had the drop on us and we were
unarmed.  Ain't gonna be like that again.  And YOU!  You need a better
holster.  And you need to get my driver's license straight with my new name
and THEN you need to get me my own pistol.  Call it even because I didn't
tag you with a big ol' diamond engagement ring." She heaved a breath in. 
"And Stonewall Jackson, don't you EVER hold anything back from me."

   "Yes, ma'am," I said.

   "Seriously, Stoney, don't make light of this.  We belong to each other.
No secrets.  I'm NOT delicate.  After tonight, you could roll out videos of
your past career as the sex toy of a gay dance troupe and I would NOT care.
You are mine!"

   "Gay dance troupe?  Seriously?  Where'd that come from?"

   "I made it up.  I'm mad, Stoney.  Seriously."

   "Okay, love of my life," I said.

   We pulled into the hotel parking lot.  Got out of the car.  She walked
around to me and grabbed my hand.  "Here!" she said.  "Let me keep you out
of trouble."



   ------

   Chapter 19

   I didn't have to be psychic to read Jo's mind.  The touch of her hand in
mine was usually a delicate thing.  This time she was tugging.

   I couldn't understand, so I did the one thing that husbands have been
doing since the beginning of time.  I said, "Yes, dear."

   "Don't be condescending, Randall Jackson," she said.  "We need to talk."

   Less than twenty-four hours since she and I stood in front of friends
and family and God and pledged marriage to each other.  Now I was wondering
exactly what I'd gotten into.  We walked right through the lobby to the
elevator.  When the door closed, I said, "Baby..."

   "In the room, Stoney," she said.

   That was an improvement.  At least I wasn't 'Randall' again.  I let her
into the room, flipped the privacy lock, followed her to the bed.

   "Sit." Her lips were a straight line.  My doll.  My life.  The girl with
the perpetual smile.  Not smiling.  I sat.  She turned to face me.

   "One more time, Mister Jackson," she said.  "I am not a delicate little
flower.  I married you, for God's sake.  I know you're not perfect. 
Neither am I.  I know there are probably things in your history that I
don't know about, that might be, shall we say, interesting.  But this is me
and you and right now, today.  I want to KNOW.  I didn't run tonight
because I wasn't going to leave your side.  You're my stupid HUSBAND!  I
was going to DEFEND you!  And then you hit the ground.  I thought I missed
'em shooting you!  STONEY YOU SCARED THE CRAP OUT OF ME!!!!"

   "Johanna Elise, love of my life, I am sorry.  I will never hold back
anything from you again." I didn't have to ACT contrite.  I WAS contrite.
"I don't want to lose you."

   "Oooohhhh, my Stoney ...  Baby, I love you.  This is us.  Me and you. 
Married!  Really!  Got the papers and everything.  You're not going to lose
me.  But don't surprise me like that." And she kissed me.  And another.

   "I love you too, little one," I said.  "That's..."

   "That's what I mean, guy.  You defended me.  Again.  But this time, the
guy pulled that knife, and there were two of them and I thought we were
had. My heart was going ninety to nothing.  And then you went down." Kiss.
"Why didn't you have a different holster?  And I didn't even see you put
that one on.  You were hiding things from me.  That's what made me mad.  On
top of everything..." And the dam burst.  She was in tears in my arms,
shaking.

   "Johanna," I said softly, "I love you dearly."

   "I know," she sobbed.  "You.  You defended me.  You could've been ...  I
thought you were..."

   "We're okay." I paused.  Kissed her softly.  "Aren't we?" We were having
a moment.  It ended when her cellphone rang.  Irish tune.  Her mom.

   "Hello, Mom." Pause.  "No, this sort of overrides the honeymoon thing."
Pause.  "Yes, he's here with me." Pause.  She passed me her phone.

   "Hello, Bridgette," I said.

   "Stoney, are you okay?" her voice had a quiver to it.

   "Yes, we're both fine, really."

   "You protected my daughter again, Stoney.  You don't have to keep doing
that to show me you love her, you know."

   "I'll keep protecting her as long as I have a breath in my body,
Bridgette."

   "As her mother, I thank you, Stoney." She paused.  "Anders wishes to
speak with you."

   "Okay," I said.  Jo's head was sharing the earpiece with me, so she kept
track.

   "Hello, Stoney," Anders said.  "You gave us quite a fright.  When
Johanna called..."

   "Thank God you have an intelligent daughter," I said.  "I'd still be at
the station without your help."

   "And we would be at the hospital.  Or worse.  Without yours," he said.
"Son," he said, "thank you for taking care of my daughter."

   "She's my wife and I am responsible for protecting her.  And thank you
and Bridgette for rearing a spectacular person."

   "May I speak with her?" he asked.

   "Certainly.  Good evening, Anders," I said.  "Here's Jo."

   "Dad," Jo said.  "We're okay.  Thanks for sending that lawyer."

   "He owes me," Anders said.  "Now you, young lady, have a real man.  See
that you treat him well."

   "Yes, Daddy," she said.  Her voice had changed in that one moment from
Jo, master of her world, to a little girl talking to her daddy.  "This
isn't how I planned my wedding day."

   "Yes, life often intrudes on our plans.  I am glad you're okay.  I'm
glad that Stoney is okay.  And I am glad you two are together.  Jo, be good
to your husband.  We love you."

   "Thank you, Daddy," she said.  "We love you and Mom."

   "Good night, Johanna, my daughter."

   "G'nite, Dad." And she was back.

   "Mom and Dad said both said that I should treat you well." She started
to get the smile back.  "Stoney, are you okay?  I mean, you just..."

   "I'm okay, dearest one," I said.

   "You killed a guy."

   "Uh, he wanted to rape you.  Pulled a knife on me.  I killed a mad dog.
No, wait.  Mad dogs don't know what they're doing.  Those guys made a
choice."

   "You're okay then."

   "I'm okay.  I got my Jo-baby."

   "Shower then?"

   "Together?"

   She smiled.  "No other way, is there?"

   "Maybe some day in the future.  Not tonight." I stood up.  She stood
right into my arms.  "You still love me, Jo?"

   "Forever, Stoney." She started to unbutton her blouse.

   "No, let me," I said.  Our lips met while I worked down the line of
buttons.  I slid the blouse off her shoulders, relieved her of her bra.

   "My turn," she said.  "That kiss thing works nice, don't you think?"

   It does.

   Johanna's turn:

   Wedding Day.  You do realize how many little girls have been dreaming of
their wedding day for their whole lives.  After watching Disney movies and
Britain's royalty getting married, wedding day has pretty much turned into
the pivotal moment in the life of many an American girl.

   I think, to use one of Dad's words, that's bullshit.  I know families
that have taken out second mortgages on homes to give Little Princess a
wedding that picks the tackiest and most ostentatious bits of a royal
wedding and applies it to suburban America and the daughter of
schoolteacher Linda and her husband Ralph, the used car king, because their
daughter deserves the BEST and this is the first of twenty-six guys she's
fallen in love with and slept with and he's actually hung around long
enough to plan the wedding.

   Six months later the son in law is history, daughter's bedding a new
stud with interesting tattoos and the bills from the wedding are still
there.

   That's the fear that Dad lived under.  He didn't know I was paying
attention.  I am Johanna Elise Randall nee' Solheim, daughter of Bridgette,
embassy clerk at the Irish Embassy in Norway, and Anders Solheim, first
generation native-born American Army Colonel, former assistant military
attache' to the American Embassy in, you guessed it, Norway.

   I have lived with my mom, who adored my dad, and my dad, who worshipped
my mom, all my life until college.  I am the quintessential military brat.
I know what it's like to live in a place for three years, pack up my entire
life, and move someplace else, meet a whole new set of friends, new school,
the works.  And I watched.  Some of my counterparts took advantage of that
'three years and then a whole new life' lifestyle to get into some pretty
destructive behaviors with promiscuity, drugs and alcohol, rebellion, petty
crime, whatever.  Of course, they had moms and dads who did the same thing.
'Peyton Place' is an archaic term for a community where promiscuity and sex
was rampant, but military housing areas made that novel look like a Disney
fairy tale.  I watched.  I learned.

   When I went off to college, Mom and Dad sat me down and talked to me. 
"We cannot shelter you all your life, Johanna," Dad had said.  "You are
eighteen."

   "We have done our best, Jo," Mom said.  "Now you are going to live away
from us.  You now make your own choices away from our eyes.  We can love
you, and we will.  We can pray for you.  And we will."

   I went off to college, living in the dorms first, and ultimately in a
shared apartment off campus.  I took the talent for music, flute, actually,
and kept it as a passion.

   I had played flute from the time I was nine.  Everywhere we went while
Dad was in the Army, he and Mom saw that I had the best instructors they
could find and afford.  Indulged?  I was an only child, so in some ways I
was indulged.

   In high school, one of those high schools near Army bases that has a
student body consisting of half locals, half army brats like me, I was in
the band.  I never liked high school bands because a lot of time was wasted
with that 'marching band' thing.  I mean, music is music and walking is
walking and the two should not mix, at least not the way American high
schools do it.  But I was in the band and I had friends and we ended up
taking a couple of buses to an 'away' game and after the game while we were
waiting to go home, I and a bunch of other band geeks were playing around
cutting up with some of the football players.  One of my 'friends' was an
absolute slut.  She'd done half the football team already, her goal
apparently being to do 'em all.

   I failed to notice that the crowd's composition had changed.  The bunch
of band geeks I usually hung out with had moved on, leaving me and Kayson
between the buses with about six of the football players.  A couple of them
were playing with Kayson.  I could hear her giggling encouragement.  I
figured she was lining up two more notches on her coup stick.  That left me
with four others who thought they were being rewarded for their Friday
night's efforts on the field of play.  And they thought I was playing coy
and hard to get.

   By the time my screams brought some adults to rescue me, they had torn
and peeled most of my clothes off and one actually had his pants down.

   Mom and Dad had to retrieve me from the hospital.  No, I didn't get
raped, not in the strictest sense.  I was not penetrated.  I was violated.
Mom and Dad stood by me.  It took some standing, too.  Four of the football
team were suspended, two, one of them the guy with his pants down, ended up
in juvenile prison.  I endured the 'she teased 'em and then wouldn't put
out' tales at school.  Lost a few 'friends' who weren't really friends
anyway.  Refused to play in the band except inside the school or at a
concert.  Underwent 'counseling' which was of little use.

   I changed my idea of the whole male-female relationship thing.  Guys
weren't 'cute' nor were they attractive in anything past conversation.  I
didn't do dates unless you want to count a crowd of five or six where there
were no official couple type relationships.  I still got asked.  Actually I
got asked out more after the incident.  I think it was because some guys
thought they might succeed where four football players failed.  But no
dates.

   You can imagine how that looked in college.  Nobody saw me out with any
guy.  Meant I must be a lesbian.  But nobody saw me out with any girl,
either.  Made me an enigma.  As a musician, I blossomed.  I think that a
lot of the passion that normally would be spent on the dating and mating
ritual went into my flute.  Double major: Music and business
administration.

   This year I shared an apartment with Key.  She's an oboist who happens
to be black.  We had a third girl at the beginning of the semester but she
made two weeks before moving off to join her boyfriend.  That's about the
same time that I finally relented and decided to try a date.

   Big mistake.  David might be intelligent and a brilliant trumpet player.
I thought his arrogance and sarcasm was a front.  Somebody who could play
like that just had to have a beautiful soul.  I was wrong.

   First thing that happened when I agreed to go out with him was that he
told people.  That got back to me in a most disturbing manner.  "David told
a guy that he's gonna be fucking the flute player before the night is
over," I heard.

   The arrogance wasn't an act.  That's the way the guy really was.  I made
him take me home.  He still talked, but this time I became the 'Ice Queen'.
With a surname like 'Solheim', that's an easy shot.

   A week later I met Stoney.  I met Stoney on MY turf, the orchestra
practice hall.  He was setting up microphones and cameras in some kind of
recording system and he was going around to each microphone and asking the
musician in front of it to play something so his buddy at the console could
set the level.  I watched him working down the rows.  Not too tall.  Not
skinny, not husky.  A little older than me.  And he had a scar.  A
noticeable scar, from his left cheek, up across his eye and into his
hairline to the top of his head.  Blue eyes.  And I watched him working
with the other orchestra members.  He seemed relaxed, friendly.  I watched
him in front of some of the girls.  He was kneeling as he worked, plugging
in cables, and he could've been leering and staring, but he wasn't.  Looked
every member in the face, male or female, asked for a passage, touched his
earpiece to communicate with guy on the console, and moved on.

   When he got to me I played a passage that I love.  He listened.  Smiled.
I got an even bigger smile than the others got, and he said, "That's
cheating."

   "How is it cheating?" I asked.

   "That's from a Mozart clarinet concerto.  Transposed up a third.  You're
holding a flute."

   I was taken aback.  "So Mister Stoney, you want another one?" The first
words I ever spoke to him.  He asked for it.  I played another passage.

   "That's the flute passage from Beethoven's Seventh Symphony, First
Movement."

   And I fell.  Those eyes.  The smile.  Yes, even the scar.  I had to know
what the deal was with the guy.

   From that day, I couldn't get that face out of my mind.  I mean, I
hunted him down after that session, questioned him about the recording
set-up.  An excuse.  Any excuse.  The third time they came to a session, I
bummed a ride home with him.  We didn't go straight home.  We stopped at a
coffee shop and talked.  I found out that he was intelligent and
well-spoken and not one-dimensional.

   A couple more of those and when we had the concert in Austin, I wanted
to ride there with Stoney.  Wanted to.  Me!  Wanted to to be alone in a car
with ONE guy for a whole three hours.  We talked.  I found out things about
him.  And he found out things about me.  I am an Army brat.  He
understands. He's a combat vet.  I sort of understand.

   I played for him, right there on the highway, and he was moved.  My
playing.  Mozart's immortal music.  And this guy had tears in his eyes. 
Dad loves music and I've never seen Dad tear up.  Stoney did.

   That was the day that I felt like I was seven years old on the school
playground.  I asked Stoney to be my boyfriend.  Actually I goaded him into
asking me first.  I was, as Dad says in his more coarse moments, 'as subtle
as a rhinoceros with an erection.'

   And that was it.  He said yes.  And then he had the opportunity to to
seal the deal by punching out a very drunk David who happened upon us.  The
effect of the first day with my boyfriend was that the concert had me
playing TWO solos.

   Oh, God, the questions!  Why?  What's he do?  What do you have in
common? That last one started out with music.  Then conversation.  There
was more.  There was something that I saw in those eyes.  I saw things.  I
saw his visage change sometimes, like he went far away, then he'd return.
We talked.  I tried to get the story and he artfully, gently dodged.

   He liked my freckles.  Freckles and red hair.  Mom commiserated.  "My
dear sweet daughter," she'd said, "of all the things your father and I pass
on to you, I hoped his genes would overcome mine with the hair and
freckles." Dad is blonde and pale.  "Instead, he made them worse.  I got
past them.  You shall, too." I know how mom got past them.  She married a
guy who thought that she was beautiful and that included the freckles,
although now, in her forties, they have gotten less prominent.

   Stoney likes my freckles.  "Freckles are like a constellation for the
stars in your eyes." I don't know how other girls would handle words like
that, but Johanna Elise Solheim practically disintegrated.

   The guy reads books.  He listens to good music.  Plays banjo and listens
to Beethoven and does not see it as an incongruity.  Knows what
'incongruity' means.

   Has always been a gentleman.  A little slow, maybe, when it comes to us.
I kissed him first.  I know that's because he wants NOT to be one of those
predator-looking guys.  He worries about the age difference.  "I don't want
to be mistaken for some loser trollin' for college girls," he told me.

   The truth is, neither of us were trolling for anything.  I wasn't
looking for a guy.  He wasn't looking for a girl.  We found each other in
spite of studiously NOT looking.  That makes it all the richer.  Early on I
found that I could relax.  I mean, I wasn't trying to impress him.  I
wanted him for myself, but sloooowly.  I wanted him, selfishly, to be at my
disposal, so that at the end of the day, a phone call would get me
satisfying company.

   He met my parents.  It was unusually early in a relationship, if you
consider a traditional 'daughter away from home' relationship.  I
considered the implications of even asking.  I guess I've watched too many
of those romantic comedies, you know, that whole thing where the girl wants
the guy to 'meet the parents' and he sees himself on a path he didn't want
to take.

   I should have known my Stoney, though.  First thing, he's not exactly
the nervous type.  Second, I told him it was nothing, just that I wanted to
have a date with me.  Okay, so I lied just a teeny little bit.  I wanted
them to meet Stoney.  Never before had I known a guy that I could see
sitting across the table from Dad.

   Dad, of course, is Dad.  When I told him I was bringing a guy to dinner,
he gave the standard 'father' questions.  Then he went into the 'Anders
Solheim security professional' questions.  Got Stoney's full name.

   Mom already knew at this stage of the game.  I talk to Mom at least
three times a week and Stoney made it into the conversation before we went
to Austin.  "Mom, I dunno.  He's ...  there's just something there." And
every time I talked to Mom, it seemed like I had something to say about
Stoney.  Dad heard some too.  I imagine that being 'Daddy's Little Girl'
put him into 'guard' mode.

   When we had dinner I found out stuff about Stoney that he thought I
didn't know.  Combat.  A Silver Star.  Now he knew that I knew.  But I
wasn't totally honest about that, either.  Dad had sent me a copy of
Stoney's citation a week before.  Am I being devious because I didn't tell
him immediately?  It puts Stoney in a different light.  Explains a lot of
things that I couldn't explain.

   That evening I told him.  Showed him the copy of the document.  In HIS
apartment for the first time.  He showed me the scars.  All of them.  You
know, I think he was kind of afraid that seeing his scars was going to be a
deal-breaker.  The more I see him, the more I find out, the more I decide
that this guy is the ONE.

   I was his friend.  He was mine.  I could be a friend.  I could listen
when listening is what he needed, and I could hold when he needed holding
and I could smile because he made it so easy to smile.  That night I asked
him to do something that I'd never done, not through middle school and high
school when such things were the norm.  I asked Stoney if he wanted to go
steady.  Like we were thirteen.  I don't know how to do this.  I'm an
anomaly.  Sexually inexperienced.  Socially inept, I guess.  And here's
this guy and I'm trying to gently nudge him to see how he feels about me.
And he accepts and I don't know what's next but I'm thinking it's him.

   So we bounce along and my roommate Key sees what's going on and she's
amused.  "Got yourself a white boy," she laughs.  Key plays being black
like an instrument and she's as good with that as she is with her oboe.

   "Trophy-grade white boy," I replied.

   She smiled.  "Jo, you're thinkin' about keepin' 'im, aren't you?!?"

   "Isn't bad to think about, you know," I said.  I was about to burst,
though, trying not to squeal "YES!!" It was like that.

   Stoney has, as they say in psych class, 'issues' with his war service. I
know he does.  Dad explained some of the issues to me when the subject made
the news.  "It's not a 'one size fits all' thing, darling," Dad told me. 
"There are many ways it manifests."

   Stoney has it.  Or maybe not.  Maybe it's mis-directed guilt.  The
report of the incident that got him a Silver Star and all those scars left
him and a few of his men alive and wounded and several others died and
Stoney feels like it's his fault.  After Stoney told me the story,
naturally I talked with Dad.  Dad brought Mom in.  They told me things that
I didn't know about them and Dad's own experiences.  Dad said Mom loved him
through it.

   I will love Stoney through his.  And that was the first time I let
myself admit the 'L-word' to myself about Stoney.  And I got scared.  I
knew how many of my friends had been in and out of love dozens of times and
this is my first.

   I know a bunch of girls who'd bought into the idea of 'fixer-upper'
boyfriends, too.  Most of those were the 'bad boy' types though.  Randall
'Stoney' Jackson is not a 'bad boy'.  And if he's a fixer-upper, it's not
the normal thing that most semi-adult airheads are working on with drug and
alcohol and crime and promiscuity issues.  Stoney has ONE issue, and he
came by it in a most honorable manner.

   So we got married.  Naturally.  Spiritually.  One memorable night on the
boat under the full moon we mated and declared ourselves inseparable.  And
the next day I called Mom and Dad and announced it exactly like that.  The
following Saturday we threw together a ceremony to make it legal in the
eyes of the State of Texas.  It's a government record, now.

   And that brings us to tonight's disaster.  After the wedding we fled
south from the city to the coast, had the almost cliche' walk along the
seawall in the moonlight.  It might sound silly, but with me and Stoney, it
was perfect, magical.

   It was when we started back to the hotel that things went bad.  Really
bad.  All we did was walk past the service alley between two businesses and
two drunks tried ...  tried to get me away from Stoney.  How could they
know that Stoney was NOT the normal Gen-Y poser.

   One of them pulled a knife when Stoney didn't abandon me.  Stoney tried
to get them to back off, The guy stepped towards us and Stoney grabbed his
chest and dropped like a rock.  I thought he'd been shot and I missed it.
Then I heard gunshots and saw Stoney with a pistol and next thing a guy on
the ground, blood running everywhere.  And crowds.  And cops.  And Stoney
saying "Call your dad!"

   After it was over and we were finally away from the police station I
kind of unloaded on Stoney.  He never told me about carrying a pistol
although I'm glad he did.  He said he was trying to not scare me.  I have
to explain, prove, to this guy that I pledged to love forever, that I am
not frail and dense and that I can handle things.

   "Stoney ...  I love you."



   ------

   Chapter 20
Stoney:
She loves me.  She REALLY loves me.  We're married.  I killed a guy. 
I'm supposed to feel remorse.  I'm supposed to receive counseling by caring

professionals who will help me grieve or some such crap.

   Therapy?  I'll tell you what therapy is.  It's having the woman you just
protected put her arms around you and tell you that she loves you.  And
when the thought crossed my mind that this scum wanted to touch my Johanna,
I tensed up.

   "Stoney?" a little voice said.

   "Yes, princess?"

   "What was that?  You got tense."

   "Just mad, baby.  That somebody would think they could take you from
me."

   "Stoney, let me show you something."

   "What?"

   "You have your secrets.  I have mine." She picked up her purse, reached
inside, pulled out an object and I heard  -"SNICK! -" and saw myself
looking at a five-inch blade.  "I am not helpless, Stoney.  My hand was in
my bag when you hit the ground."

   "Geez, Johanna," I said.

   "I've taken every self-defense class I could.  And not just those
freebie 'kick and scream and blow your rape whistle' classes.  I'm well
versed in martial arts.  Tae kwon do.  And belts don't often mean much but
mine's black.  If you thought I was a delicate flower, you just might get
your butt handed to you before you realized otherwise."

   "And you never told me any of that.  Who's keeping secrets now?"

   "I could've whipped David's ass," she said.  "You stood up and gave him
a target.  Distracted 'im.  I was going to elbow him in the nuts.  I had a
clear shot."

   "Owwwww," I said.  "A man's 'nads..."

   "Stoney, I love you deeply.  I care.  I am flattered beyond measure that
you tell me the things you tell me because I see your eyes and I know
you're not lying."

   "I'm not."

   "I'm not a delicate flower."

   "You are."

   "Am not.  Remember that gym thing I've been talking about.  You.  Me. 
On the mat."

   I rolled her over and kissed her.  "I don't think my tender ego could
handle getting my butt kicked by my wife, even if she IS half Viking."

   "Just so you harbor in your mind the idea that such a thing is
possible."

   "I look at red hair and blue eyes and freckles and that smile and since
I've obviously been transported to an alternative universe, anything is
possible." How possible was emphasized by agile fingers, fingers that could
elicit the sounds of heaven from a bit of metal, those fingers were
touching, grasping, tantalizing my increasing hardness.

   She pushed.  Hard.  I found myself on my back again.  She peeled her top
off, reached around to unclasp her bra.

   "My wedding night.  We shouldn't be dressed." She rolled off me and
started removing her pants after kicking her shoes off.

   I got up and stripped.  I knew her period was happening.  I thought we'd
do some really hot kissing and touching and I'd possibly get the
indescribable ecstasy of having her lips around my dick.  She peeled off
her panties.  Jumped me.  Hot, almost wildly wanton.  Our lips welded
together, her body writhing atop me, then her legs spread.  A few arches of
her back, my dick was between her legs, then it was warm, no, HOT and wet
and I was inside her and she was silent except for her breath escaping in
short gasps.

   Her lips smashed against mine, her tongue in my mouth like she was
scooping her very life force from me.  I was meeting her, thrust for
thrust. The pattern of her movements changed.  I knew she was banging her
button against the base of my dick with every motion.  She tossed her head
back.  "NnnnnngggggggGoddddddd!" She froze.  I needed one more thrust
myself.  I took it.

   She felt my surge and splash.  Wiggled.  With a sigh.  Her eyes were
closed.  She says sometimes I get a look like I'm far, far away.  She had a
look like she was right here.  Centered.

   I felt the moisture.  Different than the usual mix of my semen and her
lubrication.  It occurred to me that this was the first time I'd ever had a
woman on her period.

   Her eyelids fluttered then opened, exposing me to those blue orbs.  She
sighed, breathed.  "Oh, my Stoney, we have a mess.  I didn't plan to ... 
but ...  Today.  Tonight.  It's all too much.  I sorta..."

   "I needed you, Jo.  I desperately needed you."

   She smiled.  "Then our bodies said what our minds wouldn't let us say,"
she said.  "I'm glad we did." She gave an experimental wiggle.  "I'm gonna
try to get off you without leaving a trail.  Shower."

   "Right behind you," I said.  I used my hand to hold most of the rusty
red mess in place while I got out of bed.  She had the shower going by the
time I got to the bathroom and I stepped inside with her.

   "Pretty much busted that taboo," she giggled.

   "Surprised the hell out of me," I said.

   "Didn't gross you out too much, did it?"

   "You're my Johanna.  We've already talked about limits, little one.  I
don't remember us saying anything about that.  I thought you'd..."

   "Draw the line," she finished for me.  "I thought I did." She slid her
wet body up against mine.  "Tonight was too much.  I needed to possess you.
Claim you."

   "I wanted you, Jo.  I wanted ...  I guess I'm like you.  Everything
tonight, I just needed as much of you as I could get."

   She tossed her arms around my neck, pulling my face to hers.  Little
kiss.  "Stoney, I am yours.  All of me.  Stoney and Jo."

   We realized that we were in the shower and started washing each other. I
stopped short of her pussy.

   "You stopped.  Grossed out?"

   "No.  Didn't want to violate..."

   Wild giggle.  "Pretty much violated the daylights out of it earlier. 
You wash mine.  I wash yours."

   "Deal!" I said.  Lathered that thing right up.  Get it squeaky clean,
the owner hanging on me as she shuddered through another orgasm.  Kissed
her.

   "Errrrghhhhhh!" she growled.  "You're not supposed to make me do THAT!"

   "Too late," I said.  "Can't take it back.  You could've stopped me."

   "Like hell," she hissed as she stroked me.  "I'm not doin' you in here.
I want you in bed.  Wanna play with it."

   "It's yours, you know."

   She tilted her face up with a smile.  "I know.  Mine.  Forever more."

   We got out and dried off.  I shaved as she started drying her hair, a
task I helped her finish.  Still naked, she led me back to the bed.

   "Lay down," she said.  "I need panties."

   She rummaged through her luggage, retrieved a pair, went into the
bathroom, returned.  "Pad," she said.  "Stupid period should be over
tomorrow.  Then I've got goals."

   She slid back into bed beside me.  "Are you okay?" she asked.

   "I have my Johanna," I said.  "I'm better than okay." Got even better
when her fingers found me semi-hard and stroked me.

   "I had two.  You only had one," she giggled.

   "I'm not keeping score," I said.  Her hand swirled and tugged.  "OhGOD!"

   "You like?"

   "I like."

   "What if I do this?" Giggle.  She squirmed around and kissed the swollen
head of my dick.

   I sucked a breath in.  "Words fail."

   Her lips closed over it, tongue swirling.

   "You're killing me."

   "Want me to stop?" she asked.  Her eyes were happy, sparkling.

   "Please don't."

   "I know what happens." Giggle.  "Mmmmmm."

   It wouldn't be long, not the way Jo hit my senses.  She was sideways in
the bed and my hand could reach that shapely ass.  I savored the curve with
what few neurons that weren't attending to the sensations in my groin. 
Those few neurons gave up as I felt my balls pull up, preparatory to...

   "Mmmmmmmmphhhh!" when the first surge hit.  Her head turned slightly,
keeping me in her mouth.  She knew what she'd done.  Head bob.  "Mmmmmm!"
Bob.  "Mmmmm!" Bob.  "Mmmmmmrrrrr!" as one hand milked me into her mouth
while the other explored and teased my scrotum and I felt my whole groin
pulsate.  She let me go when the pulsations died down, then gulped me back
into her mouth for one more "Mmmmmmm" and left me quivering.

   Once I could open my eyes again they were filled with Jo's face,
smiling. "Powerful," she said.  "I feel so powerful when I do that to you.
Just suck you up!  And you're completely mine.  In my control.  You can
trust me, Stoney."

   "You know, Johanna, my wife?  You OWN me.  That ...  I've never ... 
never..."

   "Oh, come on, Stoney..."

   "No, my little Jo.  Nobody rocked me like you do."

   "Stoney..."

   "Johanna," I said softly, "I never loved anyone like I love you.  Wanted
to.  Never did."

   "What's that got to do with a physical act?" she asked.

   "It starts in my head.  And my heart.  Head.  You're bright and
beautiful and everything I could dream about and then some.  I run out of
words." I'd told her this before, but at the time we weren't in bed
together.  "My heart.  Never gonna be another, Johanna.  Never.  Never was.
Never will be."

   She pressed me down on the bed, straddling me.  "Me too, Stoney.  You
are the one I waited for.  I just want to be your everything."

   "Then don't kick my butt at the gym," I said.

   She squealed.  "That ...  you're just an animal, Stoney..."

   "I'm your pet person," I said.  "Put me on a leash..."

   Giggle.  "Might do that, now," she said.  "We could take turns.  You
could wear yours under your shirt collar with a tie.  I could wear a
scarf." She paused.  "Actually, I don't need a scarf.  People will think
it's a fashion accessory."

   "And when I pick you up after class and snap a leash on?"

   She laughed.  "Only if I can pick you up at work and put YOUR leash on."

   "Might just do that," I said.  "People're gonna think it's something
like that anyway."

   "But it's so much worse than that, guy," she said.  "I've been caught in
a Stoney-web for weeks."

   I rolled her over.  Wrapped her in my arms, listened to her squeal.  "I
adore you, you know."

   Her nose crinkled and her eyes laughed.  "I know.  I planned it that
way. Practiced being adorable my whole life, just for you."

   We cuddled up and went to sleep.  Two hours.  I sat up, sweat pouring
off me.  I could smell the ammonia funk from explosive detonations, laced
with pulverized clay and I could hear victorious, expectant yells and I
reached to unsling my rifle...

   "Stoney baby," Jo said.  "Another one?"

   "Sorry, sweetness," I said.  "I can't control..."

   "Don't be sorry, Stoney.  Let me hold you." She sat up and snuggled
against my back, her cheek resting on my shoulder.  "I'm here.  You're
here." Her hand stroked my head, my face, her fingers carrying love I'd
never known.

   "My Jo."

   "Your Jo.  I'm here.  Wanna talk?  What's the trigger?"

   "I don't know if there's a trigger, sweetness."

   "What's the first thing that you remember?"

   "A smell.  The smell when high explosives go off."

   "I don't smell anything like..."

   "Not like that," I said.  "Just you..." I turned and drew a deep breath
through my nose, picking up the fragrance of her perfume.  "It's in the
dream."

   "What else?"

   "That bunch of Iraqis streaming out of the building screaming 'Allah
Akhbar'.  RPG's (Auth.  Note: Rocket Propelled Grenades.  Designed as
anti-tank weapons, they're powerfully explosive and easily transported and
used as pocket artillery on battlefields around the world) AK's ( the
ubiquitous AK-47, the most common fire-arm in the world) and that one guy
waving that knife.  I was trying to get my rifle loose to shoot back."

   "Stoney, what can I do?"

   "Hold me.  Remind me that I'm here.  Not there.  Here."

   Her kiss anchored me in the sweet present.  She gently lowered me back
onto the pillow and caressed me and loved me until I drifted back asleep.
In the waning consciousness, I pondered the meaning of 'anchored in the
present'.  Jo.  Jo could do it.  I slid back into slumber with the
fragrance of her hair as my lullaby.

   Sunday morning.  Late Sunday morning I was wakened by nature's alarm
clock, a full bladder.  I tried to gently extricate myself from Jo.  We
were connected by a tangle of arms and legs.

   "MmmmmmLover," she purred.

   "Shhhhh, baby, I'll be back." I got out of bed, went to the bathroom and
was holding my own version of Niagara Falls in my hand when I felt a touch
on my waist, then a soft kiss on my bare shoulder.  I took a chance, said
not a word, finished, lowered the seat, and went back to bed.  In a few
minutes I heard the toilet flush and then she was snuggling next to me.  A
little sound that was somewhere between a purr and a whimper came from her
lips as she re-entangled herself with me and we drifted back to sleep for a
little while.  It was fitful.  She kept moving, rearranging herself against
me, finally ending up with a hand cupping my genitalia.

   The little squeeze, followed by a purr, told me that she was conscious.
I replied by softly covering her firm young breast, teasing the nipple with
my thumb.

   "If you do that again we're going to find out if my period's over,
baby," she said.

   "You do a horrible job of threatening me," I replied, my thumb teasing
that nipple to hardness.

   It's our honeymoon.  Sex, love-making, happy coupling, that's what we're
supposed to do.  So we did.  Finally rolled out of bed, together this time,
did a quickie dual shower that only the greatest self-restraint kept us
from turning into foreplay ...  well, right up to the point that her hair
was dried and she turned around and said, "You know, breakfast will still
be there in an hour..." and she stood up, letting me view her nude form.

   "You're perfect," I said.  "I can't resist."

   "You are too, Stoney, and why should we want to resist?"

   You're right.  I didn't want to resist.  We had the room until eleven.
That put us eating an early lunch, our overnight bags loaded in the car for
the short trip home.

   We found a seafood place and were dipping chips as an appetizer when my
phone rang.  I didn't recognize the number.

   "Randall Jackson," I said.  "Can I help you?"

   "Mister Jackson, this is Vernon Sims.  I'm with the police department."

   My heart fell.  I guess my face did, too, because Johanna's smile waned.

   "Yessir," I said.  "What can I do for you?"

   "Uh, Mister Jackson, our police blotter is read by some local news
organizations every day.  Your incident is on that blotter.  I have been
fielding phone calls all morning about that incident.  They want to meet
with you.  Is that something you're interested in?"

   "Do I have a choice?"

   "Sure you do," he said.  "You're a private citizen."

   "I value my privacy," I said.  "I'd rather put the whole thing behind
me."

   "I can understand that, sir," he said.  "But I wanted to let you know so
you'd have a choice.  And so you'd know that they are looking for you."

   "No charges?" I said.  "So far?"

   "Oh, I'd be surprised if anything more was said.  The night shift called
one of the assistant district attorneys last night and gave 'em the
investigation details."

   "Hang on a sec," I said.  "Lemme pose that to my wife." 'Wife' was
paying rapt attention.  "Baby, the gentleman at the police department says
reporters are looking for us.  What do you think?  Dodge?"

   "Yes.  Unless you want to.  I don't see an up side to it."

   "Uh, Mister Sims?  My wife agrees.  We're gonna beg off."

   "I certainly understand.  Never know which way that information could
affect you in the long run."

   "Well, thanks for calling us."

   "My pleasure.  We got some more information on the perpetrators."

   "I notice you didn't say 'victim'."

   "They ain't victims of nothin," he said.  "We caught the other guy this
morning.  He was staying at a run-down apartment with about half a dozen
others, along with some interesting artifacts and undocumented
pharmaceuticals.  We're waitin' for the prints to come back, but he fits a
few crimes in the area.  The one that's on the slab right now, we're pretty
sure he's gonna end a little cluster of rapes."

   "Shit," I said.

   "And a couple of stabbings, a heist of a convenience store, and that's
just right here in THIS area.  They came down here from Houston and they've
probably been doing the same sort of things there." He paused.  "And I
didn't tell you none of this."

   "Okay," I said.  "I imagine you get enough of that crap, anyway."

   "Oh, no," he said.  "Every day is filled with unicorns and rainbows."

   "I gotcha there," I said.  "Thanks for calling."

   "No, thank you," he said.  "Take care."

   I put the phone on the table, looked at Jo.  "I expected the press
sooner or later."

   "Me too.  Didn't know how that would work." She smiled for me.  "I don't
mind being known for my talents.  I just can't see where being known for
shooting somebody, even in self-defense, would be useful, at least not in
our circles."

   "Kinda the way I feel," I said.  "I always wondered how those details
get out, though."

   I was really wondering when we got home and I hit the answering machine
on the home phone.

   Brad's voice: "Hey, you're in the news, dude!  Call me."

   "The news?" Jo asked.

   "Let's call 'im.  Faster'n looking it up," I said.

   "Okay," she said.

   I punched my phone.  "Brad Sykes."

   "Calling Brad Sykes mobile," Siri said.  I put us on speaker.  The phone
rang three times.

   "Uh, hey, Stoney.  You run into problems last night?" he asked.

   "Yeah," I said.  "I got Jo listening in, so try to restrain yourself," I
said.  "What'd you hear?

   "'Following an altercation in a beachside bar, two men attempted to mug
and rape a woman and her companion.  One of the men pulled a knife.  The
male victim pulled a legally carried pistol and fatally shot the attacker.
The other attacker ran from the scene and was arrested a short time later.
He is being held on multiple charges including suspicion of several area
rape complaints, robbery, possession of drugs with intent to distribute,
and firearms violations.' It gave your name and the name of the victim and
the guy they arrested."

   "Online article?" I asked.

   "Yeah," Brad said.  "The Gulf Coast page of the newspaper's online
site."

   "Cute!" I said.  "But if you don't tell, nobody else is weird enough to
find it."

   "You can always hope," he said.  "I didn't know you carry."

   "One of those things I don't advertise," I said.

   "And they tried to mug you two?"

   "Told him to leave me with 'em and just go away," Jo said.

   "Hi, Jo," Brad said.  "Didn't mean to ignore you."

   "That's okay, Brad.  I married 'im, remember?  He told me had strange
friends." Giggle.

   "And you were with him last night?"

   "Of course.  We were doing the obligatory 'walk along the beach in the
moonlight' and were heading back to the hotel.  Walked past that club,
passing the alley and they were in there."

   "Uh," Brad stuttered, "And Stoney..."

   "Stoney reacted well.  It was over in a few seconds." Jo looked at me,
touched my hand lightly, smiled.  "It was so fast.  Such a surprise.  But
we're okay."

   "Glad to hear it," Brad said.  "I'll let you two go.  Take care."

   "Okay, Brad.  See you in the morning."

   "See ya later, Brad," Jo said.

   "Yeah.  See if you can't get us another lunch table, Jo," he laughed. 
"Be good!" Click.

   She looked at me.  "They can't do anything at work, can they?  I mean,
about this..."

   "No.  I don't carry at work.  No sense in pushing things.  We're pretty
secure there.  They patrol the parking lots.  The building entry is
guarded. Takes a pass-key to get to the floors."

   "I haven't found anywhere I can't take my knife except government
buildings and airports," she said, turning her head with that smile
working. "So when are we going to the gym?"

   "You're serious about this."

   "I am.  And about the carry permit, too."

   "Perhaps a little wrestling will help you get your form back," I said.

   "Eeeeee!  My husband's bein' all FORWARD an' stuff!" she squealed.

   "We're officially married now.  We have to do an official initiation," I
said.

   "Okay," she grinned, "just ONE more.  Then I need to practice. 
Yesterday is the first day since I can remember that I did not once put my
flute to my lips." She thought about the words she'd just uttered, then
started turning red.  "Why am I blushing?!?  What we do between us is
nothing to be embarrassed over."

   "Because you're not a coarse person, and now things that you considered
off limits are now yours to enjoy."

   She leapt into my arms.  "And I do so much enjoy ...  I knew I would,
Stoney.  You, me..."

   I scooped her up off the floor, tossed her lithe body over my shoulder,
and carried her into the bedroom where I unceremoniously deposited her in
the middle.  I trapped her beneath me.  She squealed.  "You're in soooo
much trouble, Johanna," I said.

   "Why am I in trouble, sir?" she asked.

   "Because you're beautiful and you're in bed and you have all these
clothes on."

   "Get off me and I can fix that." Giggle.

   I was busy getting rid of my own clothes.

   "Stoney, period ...  should be finished but..."

   "But we pretty much broke that barrier last night..."

   "And we have the shower and I want you and who the hell cares!"

   We made a mess of the sheets.  I have an extra set.  And a washing
machine.

   We made a mess of each other.  Actually, it wasn't as bad as last night.
When we got out of bed and hit the shower I could see that the sticky
residue of our wild mating was tinged with red-brown streaks.  Jo saw too.
I expected she'd get apologetic.  I was wrong.

   "Washes off, you know," she said.  She reached in the shower to check
the temperature of the spray, then backed in, pulling me with her.  A soapy
cloth soon has us devoid of any traces.  We stayed in the hot spray.  "Love
this," she said.  I loved it, too.  We soaked for a while, happily
fondling, caressing.  Got out, dried off.  Found my hand in hers, following
her back to the bedroom.

   "Honeymoon." Giggle.  "Are you up to it?" Her hand reached.  Another
giggle.  "Why, sir!  Yes, you are!"

   She was right, of course.  I just as well can get used to having Jo
being right most of the time.  After all, I married her.  Honeymoon.  Was
supposed to stay in bed all day.  Was supposed to end up with a redheaded
female with alabaster skin and a constellation of freckles riding me like
an electric bull at a country-western bar.  Also was supposed to end up
cradling that same female in my arms, semi-conscious, after her orgasm and
my own, the juices gluing us together.

   Late afternoon nap, naked, wonderful thing it is.  She ended up rolling
off her perch atop me, instead nestling into my side.  Sleepily she looked
at my dick, still shining with the juices from our mating.  "Nothing
showing this time, Stoney.  I guess that last one pumped me clean."

   "I am pleased to have performed a useful function."

   "I don't know of anyone who did it during their period while they were
sober," she said.  "I couldn't wait.  Stoney, I love you and you've
introduced me to something that I really like," she said.  "Was it too
gross?  I mean, last night was a mess."

   "First time I ever did that, baby," I said.  "And no, it wasn't gross.
Felt a little different, but obviously..."

   She flopped on her back, sighed heavily.  "Obviously." She sighed again.
"Do I make too much noise?"

   "No."

   "That's not faking, Stoney.  I know some girls fake it.  Just to get it
over, sometimes."

   "I know about faking it," I said.

   "Wasn't fake.  And really don't want it to be over.  Ever."

   "Johanna Elise, you've changed my expectations."

   "Expectations?"

   "Of a woman.  Of sex.  Love."

   "You're not alone, Stoney."

   "I didn't know I needed another person until you showed up."

   "My Stoney.  My missing piece."

   "Mmm-hmmm," I said, squeezing her against me.

   We ended our reverie a bit later.  I went to the kitchen to scare up an
evening meal, a task made pleasant by the strains of music from her
practice session.

   "When you get to a stopping point, sweetie, why don't you come play
along with me."

   "Okay," I answered.  "As soon as this soup is simmering."

   In a couple of minutes I was in the living room with Jo.

   "Play along," she said.

   That's a good way to start the combined life for Jo and Stoney.  Play
along.



   ------

   Chapter 21

   Johanna and I discussed the idea of taking off from our lives for a few
days for an abbreviated honeymoon, but neither of us were really at points
in life to do so.  I mean, I could have just begged off, but I was in the
middle of a project with a time limit, I'd already given my word on its
completion, and Jo?

   "I really shouldn't take off in the middle of the semester. 
Academically it's not good.  And musically, we have the Veterans' Day thing
in two weeks, and then a couple of big concerts to prep for."

   "Then we won't.  But understand this Johanna Elise Solheim Jackson.  If
I could break you loose from being intelligent and responsible, we'd be
doing a world tour."

   Giggle.  "Like Norway?  Lived there.  Germany?  Lived there.  How about
you and me get in that nasty ol' boat of ours and figure out how to run
offshore and come back in to someplace interesting?  Not now.  Maybe
Christmas break." Her brow knit in thought.  "And instead of several
thousand dollars of wedding dress, I think Mom and Dad will spring for me a
set of foul weather gear that fits!"

   That statement brought me a whimsical picture of Jo wearing one of my
sets of foul weather gear on the boat, sleeves and trouser legs folded into
cuffs.  That was cute and I honestly got more turned on by what I didn't
see of her in that outfit than some self-centered runway model trying to
act sexy.

   So the honeymoon, at least the first chapter of it, was interrupted by
the Monday morning alarm clock.  For me.  For Jo, she could sleep in.  Her
first class was 0900.  Jo doesn't sleep in.  She's up with me and while I'm
dressing, something that doesn't take long, she's in the kitchen banging
the parts to the coffee pot.

   "What cereal do you want this morning, baby?"

   "Surprise me," I said.

   Giggle.  "My husband keeps Froot Loops in his pantry!"

   "A man should give in to his cravings," I said.

   "As long as it isn't one of the girls that works in your office," she
said.

   "I didn't crave 'em before I married this perfect specimen," I said. 
"Not gonna start now."

   She sat a bowl of healthy shredded wheat in front of me.  "Eat this.  I
need you healthy."

   "You know, you could have stayed in bed," I said.  "I'm perfectly
capable of fixing my own breakfast."

   "And I may exercise that option from time to time, but right now I want
to eat cereal with you and drink coffee and then get a kiss as you go off
to work."

   I finished my cereal with her across the table, we fixed our coffee
together, and I filled my travel mug and sat back down.  "I really don't
want to go."

   "Oh, go!  In an hour I gotta go to class.  Sociology sucks, but I need
the grade.  Tell Brad and the gang that Tuesday will have to be the day I
get us a table for lunch.  And when you get home today, I will have
completed a bunch of stuff.  Getting my drivers' license changed.  I will
have done my flute practice.  And period's over." Giggle.  "Isn't it
customary for newlyweds to want to romp a bit?"

   "I have heard that such a thing is not unheard of.  I would be willing
to participate."

   She has this subdued smirk that I find utterly charming.  I got up to go
off to work and received a searing kiss to think about for the remainder of
the day.

   I walked into the office amid more stares along with the customary
greetings.  Several of them waited until I sat my computer case down in my
office before the questioning started.  I'd hoped it was about my wedding.
It was, sort of.

   "You get married on Saturday afternoon and get involved in a shooting
before midnight?" That was Carole Trencher, one of the CAD (Auth.  Note:
Computer Aided Drafting) people.

   "Jennie and Brad met Jo last week.  Brad?  Is Jo worth defending?"

   "Oh, yeah..."

   "One does not react well to having two guys try to drag one's spouse
off," I said.  "And when one pulled a knife..."

   "I'd'a shot 'im, and she ain't even my wife," Brad said.

   Carole back-pedalled fast.  "Oh, I wasn't saying..."

   "Believe me," I said, "a shooting wasn't on my schedule for my wedding
night..."

   An anonymous male voice in the back, muffled, said "At least not that
kind."

   "Puh-lease," I said.  "Mixed company here.  Let's watch our language."

   A less obvious "oops".

   "I didn't go down there with Johanna expecting a gunfight," I said. 
"But the whole incident just goes to show..."

   "Where were you?" Carole asked.

   I named the bar we'd walked past.

   "Omigod!  We go there all the time!" Carole squealed.

   "Not exactly a crime venue, is it?" I said.  "The two that attacked us
had just gotten thrown out of there."

   "You can't carry in that place.  Not legally.  It's a bar." One of my
co-workers knew the law.

   "And we didn't go in there.  We were walking the seawall.  Moonlight. 
Romantic."

   "Cliche'," Brad said.

   "Buddy, I just married the girl.  And I will happily do every cliche'
there is."

   "Good husband," Jennie said.  "She's wise to train you early."

   I filed that comment along with the conversation we'd had about collars
and leashes.  I just KNEW that would come up again.  Now I was trying to
figure out how to make it work.  Jo's the perfect one to pull it off with.
I'm thinking that the blue eyes and the red hair, she's already deep into a
bunch of fetishes.  All she needs is the leash.

   "If there's ever a person to train me, it'd be Jo," I laughed as I
headed away from the crowd.

   Made it to almost nine-thirty before my supervisor stuck his head in the
door.  "Stoney, you got a minute?"

   "Sure, boss," I said.  "Whatcha got?" Of course, I had a sneaking
suspicion as to what might be on his mind.

   Bob looked somewhat serious.  "I understand you got married."

   "True," I said.  "Saturday.  Small ceremony.  Big implications.  I
emailed HR to get the paperwork going."

   "Congratulations," he said, coming as close to a smile as I'd ever seen
from him.

   "Thank you," I said.  "You'll note that I'm back at work.  Says
something for my dedication."

   "Uh-huh," he said.  "Heard she's quite the stunner."

   "Not if you're into bikini models.  I like 'er, though."

   "Man should like the woman he marries," he said.  "My wife tells me to
say that." He turned serious.  "I heard you were in an altercation Saturday
night."

   "News travels fast," I said.  "Yes, I was.  Wasn't wearing my Oaktree
Engineering T-shirt, though."

   "I assume that since you're here you're not charged?"

   "Either that or I posted bond."

   "Ain't that funny.  Article says you shot a guy?"

   "Uh, yeah.  Did the article say that there were two of 'em and one of
'em pulled a knife?"

   "It said 'attempted mugging and rape'."

   "Yeah.  I guess they thought we were coming out of the club.  I know you
can't legally carry a pistol in a drinking establishment.  A lot of people
know that.  I think I surprised 'em."

   "Something about 'bringing a knife to a gunfight' comes to mind."

   "Yeah, and there they were, on their way home from choir practice," I
said.

   "You don't sound like you're suffering remorse over it."

   "Lemme show you something, Bob," I said.  I clicked my mouse a few times
and turned the monitor so he had a better angle.  There was Jo, dressed up
in the first concert in which I saw her solo.  She was dressed in a flowing
black dress, accenting her pale skin, her red hair, the silver flute, the
orchestra behind her.  One of my favorites.  "See this girl?"

   "That's your WIFE?!?"

   "Yes, that is Johanna Elise Solheim Jackson.  Soloist for the university
orchestra.  Twenty-one.  Smart.  Beautiful.  And those two guys wanted to
rape her.  Exactly how much remorse would you feel?"

   "I'd'a pissed on the corpses," Bob said.

   "Kinda the way I feel.  He had a record.  They think his demise will
solve a couple of previous rapes there and maybe some here.  Same thing
with the other guy.  Drugs.  Weapons violations.  Stolen goods."

   "She's twenty-one?  When does she graduate?"

   "Next spring.  Double major," I said with a bit of pride.  "Music and
business administration."

   "Impressive."

   "Yes, she is," I said.  "So, am I in trouble?"

   "No, you're not in trouble.  I'm just asking questions because I want to
be prepared in case the guys on the top floor ask anything."

   "I appreciate it," I said.  "By the way, if you're feeling guilty about
not giving a wedding gift, I'm registered at the Apple Store and she's
registered at Bronfeld Music."

   He snorted, awfully close to a laugh.  "How about you and I take our
wives out for dinner one evening.  I'd be interested in meeting her.  And
Shelley says you're a particularly shameless punster."

   "We can do that," I said.  "I think Jo would like meeting Shelley."

   "Then they'll look across the table at the two of us and feel all
superior," he laughed.

   "And by that move, we will have provided yet another function in the
maintenance of a good marriage," I said.

   "Go to work," he said.  "My bonus needs bumping this year."

   The remainder of my day consisted of numerous restarts as each of a
dozen friends came by to get their personal reprise of the wedding and the
incident.  By two o'clock I went to Jennie's office.  "Got some of that
herbal tea left?" I asked.

   "You hate my tea," she said suspiciously.  "What gives?"

   "I have told the same story a dozen times today.  My throat is sore."

   "You should've printed it out and made copies.  Or better yet, email. 
Use the company broadcast list."

   "Oh, yeah," I laughed.  "Hi!  Just wanted to bring everybody up to date
on my nuptials and a subsequent gunfight.  That'd go over like a ...  Oh,
you're a lady.  Never mind."

   "A turd in a punchbowl," she said.  "I've been working around all of you
for too long.  One would hope that the possession of a four-year college
degree would bespeak a certain level of couth."

   "One would be horribly wrong," I said.

   "Bingo." She handed me a teabag.  "So you're really married to this
girl."

   I saw her eyes.  Something I'd never noticed before.  "Yeah, Jen.  She's
it.  Really is it."

   "Oh, well.  I personally think that she made a good choice, fella.  Just
sayin'.  And I hope the tea does you some good." She reached back into her
desk.  "Here.  Honey.  Better than sugar."

   "Thanks, Jen," I said.  "I appreciate it." I left, made a cup of tea,
returned the bottle of honey.  Waved.  She was on the phone, so I returned
to my office and tried to finish a couple of tasks before the end of the
day.  The honeyed tea helped.

   She knew I'd be headed out the door at four-thirty.  That's when my
cellphone broke into a lilting flute solo.  Original.  I happen to have
slept with the artist.  "Hi, cutie!" I said.

   "Hi, baby.  Wanna go out for dinner?"

   "Sure," I said.  "I'll be home in half an hour."

   "I'll be here," she said.  "How was your day?"

   "News got out."

   "Wedding?  The other thing?"

   "Oh, yeah," I said.  "I got a sore throat from telling the story."

   "I bet," she said.  "Nobody knew anything about it in class.  I guess my
people don't read as much as your people."

   I mulled that thought, and since it was Monday, another thought, also.
"Practice night?"

   "Yeah!  You're coming with me, aren't you?"

   "I will if I'm not a disruption."

   "Bring your iPad.  And your banjo.  We'll stop for dinner on the way."

   We met at the apartment.  She was already there.  I walked in to a
dream: Johanna completely naked.  After a hot kiss with me pushed back
against the closed front door, I asked, "What would you have done if I
walked in with Brad?"

   "In the first place, you'd've told me if you were bringing somebody
home, and in the second place, I would have squealed, run like a deer and
never looked Brad in the face again." Her face moved to mine again. 
Another kiss.  "And we have some time to spend ...  before we go to dinner,
you know..." Her eyes were laughing, excited.

   Her hand moved between us.  Her smile broadened.  "D'ya lust after me,
Stoney?  I lust after you.  I lose concentration in class thinking about
us, what we do to each other."

   "That's a good thing," I said.  "I close my eyes and I see you.  You're
right here in my head.  And my heart.  Definitely my heart."

   "And in our bed," she said.  "We belong in bed right about now."

   "Okay.  I think that's a perfectly wonderful idea." I scooped her off
the floor and carried her into the bedroom.  She already had the covers
turned back.  The clean sheet was tight and inviting, and between the two
of us was reason for laughter and joy and finally, post-coital bliss.

   She was running her fingers through my chest hair and I was stroking
that red wreath around her face, our silence occasionally punctuated by
little kisses.  Her wiggle put her even closer to me, if such a thing was
possible between two nude forms tangled on the bed.

   "Mmmmmm," she purred.  "See how good this is?  I'm just about thinking
of blowing off practice."

   "It passed 'good' a long time ago, angel," I said.

   She heaved a sigh.  I knew it meant that lucidity was returning to her
thought processes.  What comes next is no surprise.  "Up and at 'em, boy!
Food!  Then people!"

   If I had a tail I'd wag it.  I watched that perfect, slim, shapely ass
move away from me towards the clothes she'd shed earlier.  She apparently
didn't hear the requisite motion from me so she tossed me a glance over her
shoulder.  "Move!  We have goals!"

   "Yes, ma'am," I said subserviently.

   "Oh, you're such a THING!" she giggled.

   "Sorry," I said.  "I was admiring the shapely bottom of this stunning
redhead that hads enveloped my life." I started dressing.

   "I never thought of myself as 'stunning', Stoney.  Adequate, yes, but
hardly stunning."

   "You should see it from my point of view."

   "We see what we want to see, Stoney."

   "Stop it," I said.  "You ARE beautiful."

   She pulled a sweatshirt over her head and came over to me, standing toe
to toe, her head tilted back.  "And you, sir, are horribly deluded." Little
kiss.  "And I know all about delusions.  I suffer from one myself." One
more kiss.

   "If you do that again, we will NOT leave this room," I said.

   "How about this, then?" and her lips faintly brushed my own.  "Is that
enough to guarantee that we return to this room tonight?" And she turned. I
swatted her bottom, received the appropriate squeal, and followed her out
of the bedroom.  We grabbed our instruments and headed out.

   Soup and salad took care of dinner and we found ourselves at Jo's old
apartment with Key letting us through the door.  Jo reached into her
backpack and pulled a bag of Cheetos out.  "Here's something to make you
smile.  We're early."

   "Not too early," came a voice accompanied by footsteps behind us.

   "Hi, James," Key said.  "Is Doctor Bob coming?"

   "BOB?" I asked.  "He comes to these?"

   "Not usually, but we told him about you and your alabaster princess
playing together." Key smirked lasciviously.  "Music, I mean."

   I glanced at Jo.  She was smiling too, so I surmised that I'd been set
up.  "And what's all this mean?" I asked.  Key was tearing open the bag of
Cheetos over a bowl.

   "I love the crunchy ones," she said, taking one.  She looked at me and
at James.  "Jo told me that you told Bob that he needed to find a harpist
for Jo to play that Mozart Concerto for Flute and Harp.  And we heard that
we have an inside track on a lutist who can play the harp part."

   "Jo, tell me you're not suggesting..."

   Giggle.  "Stoney, with the orchestra backing us up."

   "Baby," I said, "I'm a hack.  I play for you and me."

   "Don't slight yourself, dude," James said.  "You're the best banjo
player I know."

   "How many banjo players do you know?"

   "Just the one.  But seriously, man, you can hang..."

   I was sipping on a cold drink when they let Bob, Doctor Bob, in.  I
stood to shake his hand.  "Hello, D..."

   "Don't YOU call me 'doctor', Stoney," he said.

   "Okay.  Hi, Bob.  How's it going?"

   "Swimmingly," he said.  "I heard of your acquisition of my star flutist.
You did well." He saw Jo's smiling face.  "So, apparently, did she."

   "She's the best choice I've made lately," I said.

   "Like you had a choice, Stoney," she interjected.  "Once I made mine..."

   "I don't mind being your trophy," I said to her.

   "I can imagine worse fates," Bob said.  "So anyway, I have heard from
some credible sources that you and Jo have been playing that flute and harp
concerto together.  And further, you are doing it well."

   "Jo's fault," I said.  "She made me."

   "How'd you manage on a banjo?"

   "At first I just stayed within the chord structure.  Then I found that
some of Mozart's harp play will work within the framework of the standard
bluegrass rolls.  And if I really try hard, I can do a lot of his stuff as
scale work.  I had to play way up the neck to get the range on some of it."

   "It's not exactly what Mozart wrote," Jo added.  "But the spirit is
there.  And if you call it a lute instead of a banjo and you close your
eyes and try, you can imagine it that way."

   "Okay then," Bob said.  "I'd like to hear it."

   That's when Jo giggled a bit more, because when I sat down on a
dining-room chair with my banjo, not only was Jo there with her flute, but
we had a couple of violins and a cello and Key's oboe.

   "I sort of arranged for some volunteers," Jo said.  "Okay, people.  On
three.  One.  Two..."

   And music happened.  I actually closed my eyes at several places because
Jo and I had made a point of at least five or ten minutes of this every
evening now and I had images in my head that went straight to my fingers.
The rest of the abbreviated orchestra was somewhat of a distraction, but I
just pulled up the image of my Johanna smiling her way through her flute
passages and the distraction lessened.

   We finished amid happy noises.  Bob stroked his chin, smiling, as well.
"I am impressed," he said.  "I wouldn't characterize it exactly as the
Mozart piece, but it's definitely derivative enough to put it on the
program as derivative."

   "You're not serious," I said.

   "Oh, but I am, Mister Jackson.  I have some great musicians here and
when three of them, each unbeknownst to the others, and NONE of them your
wife, whom I might just imagine to be a little starry-eyed and less than
objective, those people all told me the same thing." He continued, "I am
all about classical music, but I'm just about freaky enough to think that
if a concert program alluded to Mozart's Concerto for Flute and Harp, as
played by flute and lute, and I bring you on stage with your banjo, I might
raise some eyebrows and expand some horizons."

   "Half your audience might walk out, too," I said.  "You're kidding,
aren't you?"

   "Maybe.  Maybe not."

   And Jo was smiling.

   On the way home I asked, "How many more times are you going to
blind-side me, little one?"

   Smirk.  "With good ones like this?  Every chance I get."

   "Now suppose I was some short of retiring little wallflower?  You might
have put me into a seizure."

   "I would have KNOWN that about you already.  I know you.  I've seen you
in big crowds and little ones and I know you can handle yourself.  Us
girls, we have poise.  You guys, you got 'presence'.  Stoney, you have
presence.  And you love music and you love me and I love music so I
synthesized all that and determined that YOU need to expand your horizons."

   "All that, and the fact that I'd follow you into the halls of Hell in my
skivvies carryin' a can of gasoline," I said.

   "I do seem to have that effect on you.  Among others," she giggled, her
hand reaching into my crotch as I drove.  "I promise to only use my powers
for good, never evil."

   "You know, if you're the one that's doing it, I'll never know the
difference."

   "I love you, Stonewall Jackson," she said.  "You're just exactly what I
ordered."

   Her hand was caressing my head.  I felt her fingers lightly trace my
scar at my hairline.  "You got me off the 'scratch and dent' page, then."

   "You're so awfully wrong sometimes."

   "So how far have you taken this idea of me and you doing a concert?"

   "Just one little piece, not a whole concert," she said.  "And when I
talked with Key, who happens to herself be a big 'Stoney' fan, about this,
guess what she said?"

   "Oh, Lord," I said.  "I can't wait to hear this."

   Giggle.  "She said that we both start off off-stage, and when they
announce the piece, you walk on with your banjo, wearing overalls and a
straw hat..."

   I snorted.

   "No, let me finish.  And I walk on wearing a forest-green pixie outfit.
With one of those little green pointy hats, like Mary Martin in Peter Pan."

   "Key is one seriously deranged young lady," I replied.

   "Key and I had a bunch of talks about you, you know."

   "And yet here you are..."

   "Yeah.  No.  She said that I was right to think about you.  Said you
were different than anything she'd seen around college."

   "She just knew I had a thing about redheads, that's all."

   "She listened to you talk.  You used words with more than two
syllables," she said.

   The car bumped over the curb into the apartment parking lot.  She saw my
hand go to my waistband.

   "Thought so," she said.  "I felt it before we left."

   "My pistol, too?"

   Squeal.  "Stoney, that's horrible!  You're gonna have to wash my back as
punishment!"

   And we were inside, laughing.  God, it's such a rush, living with
Johanna.  The joy just flows from her.  When I'm with her, it's easy to be
happy.

   That's why when the door closed, I found myself pressed back against it.

   After the kiss, the happy blue eyes reached into me.  "Uh, Stoney, just
so you know for sure, playing music with you, it's like foreplay ...  Are
you up to it?"

   "Just so you know, Jo, if I'm conscious, I'm up for it."

   Giggle.  Push.  "I can tell!"

   "You have any ideas?"

   "Crazy ones," she said, sliding down to her knees.  The next sound was a
zipper, and then I shifted to the next universe over, slumping back against
the support of the door.  I felt the gulp and the incredible warmth and
then with an audible pop, cool air.

   She stood up.  "Come on, guy.  No clothes.  Me.  You.  Shower.  Then..."

   "You're gonna kill me," I said.

   "Nope.  I know CPR.  And on YOU, this one special place to start
blowing..."

   "Oh, when did you become this wanton Irish wench?"

   "The first time you kissed me and I determined you were too big to throw
over my shoulder and carry off to Valhalla."

   I came home the next day to tuna steaks marinating and a rice pilaf in
progress and a happy Johanna with a bag from a pet store chain.

   "Don't tell me..." I said.

   "Mmmm-hmmm.  Haven't figured out when, but let's try 'em on."

   Five minutes alter we were clad in his and hers dog collars, real
working leather ones, not something from that funny shop over in the artsy
district.  We looked at each other and laughed.  "You just KNOW you want to
do this in public," she said, giving my leash a little tug.  "By the way,
the mail's on the desk.  There's one that's hand-written.  I didn't open
it."

   We'd already had that discussion along with the explanation of mutual
financial situations and the merging of the bank accounts.

   "You can open anything that comes to this house, baby.  We talked." I
picked up the envelope.  It was indeed hand-written, in that neat, legible
block lettering that I'd seen on more than a few official documents.  And
on the upper left-hand corner was a label: Harland P.  Graves, USA,
Retired.



   ------

   Chapter 22

   "Somebody you know?" Jo asked.  "I saw the 'USA Retired'."

   "My platoon sergeant in Iraq," I said.  "Good guy."

   "I'll let you read it, baby," she said.  She started to turn away.

   "Where are you going?"

   "Was giving you some room.  Privacy."

   "I don't need privacy.  I need Johanna.  This is just part of the past.
He's a good guy.  Wonder what he's got to say." I opened the envelope.  A
single printed page was inside.

   I read:

   Dear Lieutenant JacksonI haven't heard from you for years.  I talked
with some guys from the battalion a while back at one of those off-post
bars.  You know I retired next to Fort Leonard Wood.  I'm double-dipping
now.  I ran into one of the company commanders.  He's a light colonel now.
We got to talking and your name came up.  He told me that he thought you
ended up in Texas, so I started looking.

   The Internet is a wonderful thing.  I was able to find out where you
live.  I am going to visit my brother down in Texas in a week or so.  If
you're interested, I would count myself privileged if I could sit down and
talk about the old days.

   I also see from what I can find that you're doing well, working.  That's
good.

   I understand if you can't find time for us to meet.  Life has a way of
intruding.  But I would really like to offer.  My phone number is
xxx-xxx-xxxx.  That's a cellphone, of course.  If you call me any time
before 2200 or after 0600, I'll answer.

   Hoping the best for you, Lieutenant Stonewall.

   Harland P.  Graves

   Ex-platoon sergeant

   Trainer of engineer lieutenants

   "What do you think?" I asked.

   "I think you probably want to meet 'im, drink a beer or two.  Talk about
old times." She pushed me back onto the sofa, knelt beside me.  "Platoon
sergeant?  He's probably Dad's age, then."

   "Yeah, pretty much," I said.  He was three years from having twenty in
when we deployed."

   "Thought so.  Go ahead.  Call 'im.  You can go do that."

   "Suppose I want you go go with me?"

   "Suppose I think I'd do anything you want, but you might be better
without little wifey to put a damper on things.  Dad was an officer and I
heard him say that they were a little more restrained than some of the
enlisted men.  I don't want to get in the way of you having a good time,
letting loose, all that."

   "I never was the 'letting loose' type, baby.  And I've spent many a long
day and night in the presence of Sergeant Graves and he never appeared to
be the 'letting loose' type, either."

   "Call 'im," Jo said.  "It's still early enough."

   "You sure?"

   Kiss.  "I'm sure."

   I punched up the number on my iPhone.  It rang.  Male voice that I could
recognize while I was sound asleep in the dark in the middle of a dust
storm.

   "Sergeant Graves, I presume?"

   "ELL-TEE Stonewall!  How the hell are you?!?"

   "Just greasing the wheels of industry, Sarge," I said.  "Yourself?"

   "I am fulfilling my life's dream.  I'm a civilian instructor in
Engineering School.  Still tryin' to keep young lieutenants out of
trouble." He still had that laugh in his voice.  I know that during our
service together he'd had to pull deep from within to keep a good attitude.
Second lieutenants, even well-meaning ones, can pull some bone-headed
stuff.

   "So when are you coming down to Texas?"

   "Actually, me an' the missus are going to hit town Friday.  We're
supposed to be in some god-forsaken pimple on the ass of Texas to meet my
brother and his bunch Saturday afternoon.  The way I see it, that gives us
a Friday evening for a civilized meal and a little social time."

   "Your missus?"

   "Yep.  Gracie's still hanging on after thirty years.  I've seared her
sense of taste."

   "I have one of my own now.  You bring yours, I'll bring mine."

   "Gracie says she remembers you.  That's pretty good.  I almost don't. 
How long you been married?"

   "A whole week," I said.

   "No shit!  And you called me from your honeymoon, or what?"

   "She's in college and I'm working and the honeymoon's a plan for the
future when we both have time.  So, wives?"

   "Gracie will love it."

   I caught a glance at Jo.  We were sharing the phone between us.  She was
smiling.  "Okay, then.  What're you doing, renting a car when you get
here?"

   "You got it, Ell Tee.  Tell you what.  I'm saving this number.  We'll
call you when we get off the plane."

   "Did you ever evolve past the Stone Age, Sarge?" I asked.  In the army,
he was notoriously computerphobic.

   "OH, yeah.  I'm emailing and Facebooking and all that crap."

   "Gimme an email address.  I'll send you my address and stuff."

   "Okay.  I'll just text it to you."

   "Gotcha.  You ARE evolved."

   "Alrighty," he said.  "Ell-Tee.  Stoney.  I'm looking forward to seeing
you again."

   "Me too, Sarge.  Great hearing from you."

   "Bye!" Click.

   I looked at Jo.  "I met his wife.  She was mothering a bunch of the
young enlisted guys' wives during the deployment.  She's good people, too."

   "He sounds okay," Jo said.

   "He is.  And we can put up with a lot for one night." A buzz told me
that I'd gotten a text.  I looked.  Same number.  I opened the text and
routed it to my email address.

   "Honey," she said.  "You put up with the idea of playing your banjo in
front of my orchestra..."

   "Oh, crap!  I forgot about that."

   "Don't go blocking things out, Stoney.  You and I, we make music
together."

   "Yes we do.  And if Bob says it's good enough that he'll stand in close
proximity to my playing, then I'm apt to believe him.  After all, I think
highly of one of his students."

   "Oh, flattery'll get you ...  me!  Let's go shower..."

   An hour later, we were drifting along in the afterglow.  "So what did
you think of Key's idea for the production?"

   "Key has a way with stereotypes," I said.

   "Key's been busting me on stereotypes ever since I've known her," Jo
said.  "She's funny."

   "Yes she is," I said.  "But did she consider that a lot of people who
populate the audience of classical concerts are notoriously humorless? 
Because laughter is for the vast unwashed?  The slime from which they
themselves have emerged?"

   "Oh, you have this cynical streak, Mister Jackson.  Even after reducing
your partner to a quivering, squealing mess."

   I pulled her against me for a kiss.

   "You're draining my cynicism," I said.

   She wiggled.  "I definitely drained something."

   "What lewd talk from such an angelic young girl," I said.

   "Hardly lewd, sir.  Quite factual.  Now turn this way just a little.  My
head is supposed to be resting right here." 'Right here' was on my chest,
and she's right.  It's a good place to rest.  She found a good place for
her hand to rest, too.

   The alarm the next morning.  Another day.  Life goes on.  Friday
afternoon.  My phone rings.  I look at the display.  Harland.

   "Yeah, Sarge," I said.

   "We're on the ground.  I figure an hour before we're on the road.  Gonna
go check into the hotel and then head your way."

   "Keep me posted," I said.  "I'm trying to keep the lights on in
Guatemala."

   "Okay, El-tee.  I wanna hear about that.  See you in a bit."

   Twenty minutes later the phone rings.  Well, if you call Johanna's flute
passage a 'ring'.  "Out of class, baby," she said.

   "I'll be out of here at four-thirty," I replied.  "Call you then, baby."

   "Have you heard from our visitors?"

   "Oh, yeah.  They're here in town.  Going to their hotel first."

   "Gives me time to straighten up the house."

   ------

   Yeah ...  the house is such a mess.  I'm starting to see bits of Jo's
feminine touch showing up there.  Potpourri for a fresh smell.  A spray of
flowers from a nearby roadside vendor.  The curtains over the kitchen
window actually pulled back the way they're supposed to be.  I mean, I was
neat and clean, just not as aesthetically motivated as Jo.  Coming home a
couple of days a week to a meal I didn't cook myself was nice, too.

   "You don't have to cook, baby," I told her the first time it happened.

   "Go on, Stoney.  It's not like I slaved over a hot stove all day. 
That's a broiled fish filet and vegetable and some simple pilaf.  Don't you
like us sitting here in our house sharing a quiet meal sometimes?"

   "Yes, I do, dearest," I said.  "But I didn't marry you so you'd keep
house for me."

   The corners of those blue eyes collected tiny lines as she smiled.  "Oh,
I know ALL the reasons you married me, buddy.  Thought I'd toss this in as
a perk."

    -"

   "Okay, princess," I said.  "I'll be there as soon as I can.  I love
you."

   "Love you too, bud!  Bye!"

   "I love you," came Brad's voice in falsetto.

   "Jealousy cheapens our friendship," I said.

   He laughed.  "And your dedication level has diminished, too."

   "As long as I can meet your high standard."

   "I'll cut you some slack, being a newlywed and all that," he laughed.

   We went back to work.  At four-fifteen I shut my work-station down and
started cleaning up my space.

   "What's your plans for the weekend?" Brad asked, sticking his head in
the door.

   "Meeting an old army buddy and his wife for dinner.  Probably do the
boat tomorrow.  You?"

   "Kids to the zoo.  Weather's cool enough for it to be fun again."

   "I heard that," I said.  Summer was hot and miserably humid here.  "I
hope you have fun."

   "Oh, I'm sure I will," Brad said.  Brad's the proverbial 'good dad',
married to the mother of his children, all Little League and dance
recitals, parks and zoos and museums.  I knew this and I knew Brad's dry
wit and how he always sounded so put upon over having a schedule filled
with wife and kids.  "If you're around Sunday afternoon, why don't you and
your wife come over for dinner?  Heather can try a recipe out on you."

   "Let me get back with you when I talk to Jo, but it sounds good."

   "I'll tell'er to get a chunk of meat this evening.  If you don't show
up, we'll have leftovers.  Not that that's a bad thing." He grinned,
patting his belly.

   I'd eaten at Brad and Heather's.  Her cooking left no reason for
disappointment.

   I retrieved my USB drive from my workstation.  That's all my working
files.  Not only are they on the company server, but I have copies on the
workstation hard drive and this little USB stick.  A fire two years ago in
the server room wiped out a lot of work.  Mine wasn't part of it.  Little
building blocks of work and life, that's what that drive was, just another
little block.  I hurried out the door with the Friday crowd.  I had a life
that included another person.

   I sat in my car, buckled the seatbelt, stuck my Bluetooth earpiece in
and said, "Call Johanna."

   "Calling Johanna mobile," Siri answered.

   Two rings.  "Hi, baby!"

   "Hi, cutie," I said.  "I'm oozing out of the parking garage right now."

   "Good!  Can't wait!"

   "Me neither." Inside I was running the possibilities, though.  I hadn't
seen Harland Graves since that bad day.  I had the one letter from him, a
few emails while I was in the hospital.  Now he was back, like a pipeline
back to that day.  Things were getting better since Jo was with me.  Yes, I
still had episodes, three in the last week, but instead of just letting
them control me, getting up, staying awake, a soft hand, soft words, and I
have been able to back down from the images in my mind.  I was hoping that
seeing and talking with Harland, Sergeant Graves, wasn't going to start
those back the way that they were, pre-Johanna.

   That was MY problem, though.  Sergeant Harland Graves was a consummate
soldier, taking time to keep this young lieutenant between the lines while
I learned my trade.  His offer of friendship and social interaction was
rightly to be met by my best side.  Sometimes it's not supposed to be about
me.

   I got home, headed straight into Jo's arms.  "I need a shower."

   Her hand brushed my cheek.  "And a shave.  Quick!"

   I was towelling off when the phone rang.  ""Lo there, El-Tee," Harland
said.  "You sure it's okay for us just to drop into your house?  I mean, I
could be one of those homeless vets you always see in the news."

   "Look, Sarge," I said.  "If you were homeless, you'd be holding morning
formation under a bridge somewhere, then putting the rest of 'em to work."

   "Oh, I see you still have SOME of the attitude.  According to the GPS,
we're half an hour out."

   "That's kind of iffy.  The GPS ain't too good at reading traffic."

   "Well, we're on the way.  Don't leave without us."

   "Sarge, despite being married a whole week, I wouldn't think of missing
you." It's a good thing we disconnected when we did, because my image
would've been shattered with the squeal I emitted when fingers grasped my
scrotum from behind.

   "You're gonna kill me one day," I laughed.

   "Nope.  Just gonna shake you up a little bit.  Now, brush my hair."

   "Lemme shave while my face is wet."

   "Oh, okay," she sighed.  We were still working out our routine.

   In a few minutes I was brushing and when I achieved the requisite sleek
perfection, I kissed the top of her head.  "You know, you need to start
covering yourself when I do this."

   "Why?" she asked, turning around.  The reason was readily apparent.  She
gave it a squeeze.  Giggled.  I'd say that melted me completely, that
giggle, but one part seemed to get even harder.  Another giggle.  She
KNOWS! "Save this for later."

   We were fully dressed and listening to somebody else's version of that
Mozart piece when the doorbell rang.  I opened it.

   "Dammit, El-tee," Harland said.  "I don't know whether to salute or
shake hand or Hell!..." He hugged me.  "You look pretty darned good
compared to the last time I saw you!" He let me loose and turned to the
smiling round-faced woman standing behind him.  "I dunno if you remember
Gracey."

   "Hi, Mizz Gracey," I said.  "Apparently putting up with him keeps you
young!"

   "Stoney, I'm pleased to see you again, but I'm more interested in
meeting your wife," she smiled.

   "See," Harland said.  "She maintains priorities.  Go ahead."

   "Folks, this is my wife, Johanna.  Jo, this is Harland Graves and his
wife Gracie."

   "I'm pleased to meet you both," Jo said graciously.  "Welcome to our
home.  Would you like to sit for a bit?"

   "Lovely," Gracie said.  "Beautiful place you have here."

   "I'm working on it," Jo said.  "Stoney's a guy.  What does he know?"

   "Who chose that painting?"

   "I chose it.  Pinkie, by Thomas Lawrence.  It was here before I met Jo.
Now it's eclipsed."

   "Stopittttt!" Jo squealed.  You're making me blush!"

   "They're cute, baby," Gracie said to Harland.

   "I'm trying to give the place a little bit more 'home' and a little less
'dorm' feel," Jo said.  "But I was impressed the first time I saw the
painting."

   Gracie and Jo scooted together and Harland and I did a little catching
up.  Finally the conversation turned around to food.  "Man, you think you
could find a good Mexican restaurant around here?"

   "In Texas?"I laughed.  "That's asking a lot."

   We filed out, took two separate cars.  Ended up in the proper parking
lot.  Dinner was great.  "Love these margaritas," Harland said.

   "Just two, dear," Gracie prodded.

   "Oh, I know, love."

   "You too," Jo said.  "I'm only having the one."

   "Jo, dear, I need to go to the ladies' room," Gracie said.

   "Let's go," Jo said, rising.

   The two worked their way through the crowded restaurant.  Harland looked
at me.  "So how are things going?  Have you had issues?"

   "I got out with 40% disability," I said.  "I ring metal detectors.  It
acts up if I stand or walk too long.  But I get by.  The scars don't
frighten Jo."

   He surveyed my eyes.  "Other things?  Wake up at night?"

   "How'd you know?"

   "Guessed."

   "Trouble is," I said, "that I talked with Jo and Jo's dad ...  did I
tell you he was on the division staff while we were there?  He was.  He
processed some of the paperwork after that mess."

   "You shoulda got a Distinguished Service Cross, Stoney.  If it'd been
Fallujah, you would've.  We were supposed to be pacified.  What did her dad
say?"

   "There is a difference between PTSD and guilt.  Those VA (auth note:
Veterans Administration) hacks never asked, discussed, analyzed.  'Sign the
sheet.  Let's talk.  See you next month'.  Jo started looking into it at
her dad's suggestion.  She thinks it's not PTSD.  Not in the strictest
definition."

   "You know, Lieutenant Stonewall Jackson, you don't have anything to feel
guilt over."

   Jo and Gracie had returned.  They saw expressions.  I think that Jo
reads me like we've been together since her birth.  Gracie's got a couple
of decades of Harland.  Jo's hand touched my arm.

   "I said that," Jo said softly.  "I read the official reports."

   "Lieutenant Jackson.  My friend Stoney.  There's stuff that didn't make
it into that report.  One of the reasons I wanted to make sure I got to see
you is to give you back your knife."

   "My knife?"

   "Yeah, you know how you strapped that K-Bar (auth note: a Bowie-style
fighting/utility knife) on your thigh.  I actually saw you use it once to
open a case of MRE's.  I've got that knife.  Didn't get the sheath, but the
knife, they thought it was mine after that scrap."

   "I dropped it?"

   "No.  You didn't drop it.  You dropped out from under it when you went
down the second time."

   "I only remember blacking out the one time."

   "Yeah, I saw that.  Thought you were done for.  That guy came running up
with that long knife, hollering 'Allah Akbar' like he was gonna take some
heads.  You managed to put a burst in his chest."

   "That's the last thing I remember."

   "You missed a bunch if that's all you remember.  You tried to stand. 
You had blood runnin' down the left side of your face.  Your arm was
dangling crazy.  Your shirt was torn and you were covered in blood and your
left leg buckled."

   Jo's eyes were wide.  She was silent.

   Harland continued.  "I thought, 'that's it.  He's down now, ' but you
started crawling back along the road.  You checked the guys at the middle
hummer.  They didn't make it.  You started towards me and Rainer. 
Crawling, dragging your rifle with your right hand.  I don't know how you
did it, but when you got to me, I was messed up, and you looked at me and
dammit, you said, 'I fucked up, Sarge.  Fucked up." He took a breath.  "You
sort of sagged.  I could hear footsteps.  One of 'em was coming down the
line.  I could hear the rapid reaction force coming, and here was this dude
getting ready to make sure we were done up

   "Gosh, Stoney right when he bent over, you pulled that stupid knife,
pushed up on your last leg, and stuck 'im.  Ripped him from groin to
ribcage.  That's when you passed out again."

   "That didn't make the official report," Jo said.  "I have a copy."

   "Of course it didn't." He addressed Jo.  "They were pumpin' me full of
shit and medevaking me and Stoney off.  I did the best I could to get him a
Medal of Honor, but live guys weren't getting those either.  Anyway,
Stoney, you know how they sanitize those commendations.  They couldn't come
right out and say he saved his platoon sergeant's life by gutting a jihadi
with a K-Bar, could they?"

   "I suppose not.  I don't remember any of that second part."

   "I do, Stoney.  Three of us are alive because you didn't give up."

   "I should have seen it coming."

   "Shit, El-Tee!" he spat, lapsing into a tone I remembered too many
times, " we were playing against their varsity there.  I talked to the
captain.  The guy who was leading that cell was a veteran of their war with
Iran and Gulf War I.  No dumbass.  And we still beat 'em.  One of 'em made
it for interrogation.  And it wasn't the guy who kept your knife."

   "Gosh, Stoney..." Jo said.

   "I'm sorry, Jo.  I guess most wives have no idea of what their husbands
did in the war.  Yours is a hero."

   "I know," Jo said softly.  Her fingers stroked my arm.

   "Lieutenant Jackson.  My friend.  You got NOTHING to be guilty about. 
If you hadn't done the things you did, I wouldn't be having this
conversation tonight."

   I looked at Gracie.

   "I've heard the story, Stoney.  I sort of encouraged him to tell you.  I
think it's good for both of you."

   I sat back.  "Gee, Sarge.  Good thing you weren't an asshole."

   "I tried, El-Tee," he said.  "And after I got out of the hospital, your
replacement was no Stonewall Jackson.  Nice kid.  Didn't have a K-Bar,
though."

   "Harland.  Sarge.  I appreciate you telling me all this."

   "I think I owed that much to you, Stonewall."

   The waiter sort of broke the moment by asking about refills on the
margaritas (refused) and dessert (pastel de tres leches, por favor) and we
lightened things up.

   "So this Guatemala project, do you actually have to go to Guatemala?" he
asked.

   "Not if I can help it," I said.  "I'm sort of burnt out on the Third
World, you know."

   We parted ways in the parking lot later, promising that if there was a
reunion, Jo and I would show up.  If not, then we knew where each other
lived and our paths would cross again.

   I turned a handshake into a man-hug and got a hug from Gracie, and Jo
got two hugs and we got in our car.  Jo leaned across and tugged me into
kissing range.  She was holding my knife.  It was wrapped in a white towel.

   "Stoney, I knew you were a hero before.  You just had a guy explain
exactly how you saved his life.  And you didn't know you did it."

   "Jo, He was one of MY men.  They were ALL my men."

   "You saved three of them.  And it's almost ten years ago.  And I'm here
and I don't care if you scream in the night, I will be here with you. 
Every night."

   We got home.  I felt somber.  Jo could tell.

   "Stoney, my love, those were nice people.  I'm serious, we need to make
a trip to Missouri to visit them.  It's a destination."

   "I love you, Johanna," I said.  "I so much love you."

   She wrapped me up.  "My Stoney.  Wait here."

   I sat.  I heard the clicks associated with her flute case, then the
strains of Edvard Greig's Morning Mood.  Then the pace picked up as she
lilted through things that spoke to my heart.

   She smiled shyly.  "We're together.  Us.  I'm here for you.  Just like
you were there for your guys."

   "Okay, baby.  You're right."

   "I was worried about tonight, too, you know.  Dad says that sometimes
things trigger other things.  Stoney, the guy owes his life to you.  And
you saved 'im in a dramatic fashion.  Not one of those 'applied a
tourniquet' things, either."

   "Okay, baby."

   "Let's wash up.  Get ready for bed, okay?"

   "Okay."

   The cool washcloth refreshed my mind a bit.  I turned to her, brushed
her hair away from her cheek, bent over and kissed her.  Life came back,
along with her smile.

   "Come on.  After we're with nice people, I need snuggling."

   I tossed the covers back, baring the bed for us, and we slid in
together. She didn't turn off the bedside lamp, meaning I had a close view
of the eyes and the freckles and the red hair.  Got a kiss on the nose.

   "Nice, but not sufficient," I said.

   "If I give you much more than that, I might expect something in return."

   "I belong to you, dearest."

   Some breathless time later, we drifted into sleep.

   And I slept all night.



   ------

   Chapter 23

   Johanna's turn:

   Glorious Saturday morning, drifting along with the light pushing its way
through the little gap in the drapes.  I hear soft, regular breathing next
to me, calming, protecting.  That would be my husband.  He's sleeping. 
He's slept all night and I get the best feeling about that.  We've been
sleeping together two weeks.  Married, that is, 'officially' with the
public ceremony and a marriage license, for a week today.

   In that two weeks, he's wakened in the middle of the night eight times
that I know about.  I know about it because he sits straight up, his body
clammy with sweat.  I also know that on the other nights, he's gone through
restless spells, his legs working, twisting.  I wake up.  If he's sitting,
I gently touch this man that I love, this man who adores me, and I speak
softly to him and help him come back.

   Last night, nothing.  No sitting.  No running.  No twisting.

   This morning I awake fully rested and I feel inside that my Stoney is
rested as well.  I felt as much as saw him move away from me, then a big
shift and he was on his side facing me, putting his arm around me, pulling
me to the place where I was meant to be: In his care.

   I closed my eyes, breathed deeply though my nose, catching the manly
scent that I'd bought for him just last week, and drifted back to a lazy
Saturday morning slumber.  A little while later I felt him stir, then felt
a soft kiss and heard "My beautiful, beautiful Johanna Elise."

   "My Stoney, my husband," I answered, and returned the kiss, softly at
first, then reading him, the kiss became hotter, more wanting.

   "Don't move," he said.  "I gotta..." and he jumped out of bed.  I know
where he's heading and I went to the half-bath up the hall for my own
relief.

   "You're not the only one with a bladder, love," I said.  "And when
you're finished, back to bed!"

   "Yes, ma'am," he said with a chuckle.

   No sense in just jumping up and wasting a perfectly good Saturday
morning.  Living twenty-one years, the last three in college, I'd heard a
lot about the nuts and bolts of sexuality.  Now I had my own laboratory and
practical exercises.  It's wild!  I can play and get played with, and
there's no hurry and no worry and...

   Between being sexually satiated (for the time being) and starting to
miss breakfast, we got dressed.

   "Destination," I said, "Just in case you forget."

   "Boat," Stoney said.

   "You didn't forget."

   "'Course not!  Let's throw some stuff together," he said.

   We loaded up a bag for the day trip, headed out, grabbed a drive-thru
breakfast on the road.  And in an hour, we were unloading things onto the
dock.  Thirty minutes later we were under way, me at the helm, weaving out
of the marina, Stoney uncovering the sail and stowing docklines under a
beautiful autumn sky.  The winds even cooperated so that as soon as we
cleared the channel into the bay, the sail went up and the engine went off.
Only sailors know the peace of that moment.  With the wind abaft the port
beam, we heeled little and it was just about as tranquil as one can be
under sail.

   "You slept all night," I said.  "Didn't you." It was a statement, not a
question.

   "I did.  I feel rested."

   "Talking with Harland, listening to Harland, I think it helped," I said.
"You've been facing this on your own.  You didn't know everything..."

   "Apparently not."

   "Stoney, most wives have no idea..." I know this because Dad told me. 
All his 'war stories' were funny stuff about staff meetings and politics in
the ranks and stuff like that.

   "It's not exactly the subject of polite conversation."

   "I'm your wife.  Everything that has ever happened to us is fair game.
If I can't share it with you, who do I go look for?"

   "You still have your mom and dad," I said.

   "Uh-huh.  And friends like Key.  But since a week ago, those are all
second tier.  You're it, guy.  Better or worse and all that."

   "Okay.  And you're so far above the best friend I've had in a decade..."

   "What about Brad?"

   "Brad's a great guy.  He was recruited right out of college and had been
a staff engineer ever since.  The biggest trauma he's ever experienced was
a wino running a light one night and T-boning his car.  He was by himself
and it hit on the passenger side.  Or maybe the birth of his first kid.  He
said life changed as he knew it..."

   I giggled.  Mom and Dad said the same thing.

   Stoney kept talking.  "You.  You're off the screen.  College girl.  But
I dunno, you seem like you've got it going on.  Maybe because your Dad took
the time to tell you things."

   "And Mom," I said.  "Mom sat me down and told me the things that worried
Dad.  Of course, it was with the warning that I not approach Dad about
those questions.  They were between me and her."

   "You make me feel secure."

   "You should feel secure, Stoney.  I love you.  You love me.  Secure."

   He smiled.  "Yeah, but about that incident..."

   "You were there how long before that happened?"

   "Six months, give or take."

   "You weren't one of those, what's Dad call them?  'Rimffs'?"

   "REMF," I said.  "Stands for..."

   "I know what it stands for," I said.  (Auth.  Note: Rear Echelon Mother
Fucker) "You weren't in the rear with the gear."

   He laughed.  "Your dad told you about those things?"

   I laughed.  I remember good poetry.  "He had other terms.  Said that was
something that bothered him after he made major and couldn't justify going
out on operations."

   "That would be like taking all the music courses and never getting a
chance to pick up an instrument."

   "Sort of, I guess," I said.  "But people don't assault the
flute-player." He grabbed my butt and squeezed.  I squealed.  "Not THAT
kind of assault, beast!"

   A puff of wind made the stern squat and the wake took on a louder,
musical note.

   "You wrinkle your nose like that one more time and I will show you an
assault."

   "Wrinkle my nose?"

   "Yes," he said.  "It's this terribly charming thing that you do. 
Irresistible."

   I smiled.

   "See!  You're doing it again!"

   "Autopilot!" I hissed.  "Turn it on!" Yes, he had one.  And I was
perfectly sure that it would keep us pointed in the direction we needed to
go.  Poor dear had all sort of difficulties turning the autopilot on and
engaging its clutch, what with some horrible aroused female fondling his
dick.

   The autopilot was making little 'weenk!' sounds as it maintained course
and I was assaulted by Stoney and assaulted him right back, ending up
getting myself taken from behind, a concession to a just a little too brisk
west wind that made nudity, or even half nudity, a bad idea.

   So okay, we scratched that itch.  Five minutes, I think.  I wonder if
anybody else gets that worked up over their guy.  Something's there with
Stoney.  I'm like the lock and he's the key.  All my tumblers just line up.

   With our pants pulled back up (and this squishy feeling in mine.  Oh,
well, in a bit I'll go find something to sop up the mess) we snuggled back
together.  The autopilot was still making 'weenk!' noises as it held our
course.

   "We can't do that in the summertime," he said.

   "Why not?"

   "Because we'll get arrested for public lewdness."

   "Not if you have that pair of baggy trunks and I have this bikini.  And
I can sit on your lap..."

   Breath hissed when he sucked it in.  That's another thing to know and
love.  One of these days I'll try to explain to him that I see all this. 
Or maybe not.

   I cuddled into his side, letting him wrap an arm around me.

   "Stoney?"

   "Yes, little dove?"

   "Knife.  I knew about the gun in that battle.  But a knife?"

   "Dunno, darlin', he said.  "Gun was probably empty.  Can't do a mag
change with only one arm.  All I had, I guess."

   "Stonewall Jackson, you weren't even conscious, and your last move was
to protect your men.  You know, the guy that was there with you, HE thinks
you're a hero.  So does my dad.  And my dad's daughter."

   "Okay," he said.  "Thank you.  You still love me?"

   "Only forever," I said.  "We're far enough out to head south and anchor,
aren't we?"

   "Yes we are," Stoney said.  He reached over and punched a course change
into the autopilot and then said "Hang on!  We're gonna jibe!" as he hauled
the mainsheet in.  He had the boom almost amidships when the wind passed
across our stern and he eased the sheet out putting us running before the
wind.

   That had the effect of almost killing the apparent wind in the cockpit.
I went below and retrieved my flute.

   "I wasn't going to ask," Stoney said.

   "You don't have to ask," I said.  "You will have to put up with a week
of piccolo, though.  I gotta nail that feature for Stars and Stripes
Forever for Saturday.

   "Week's enough time?" he asked.

   "Look, bub," I said.  "You can keep the lights on in Guatemala.  That's
what YOU do.  I can do a piccolo piece.  That's what I do." I giggled. 
"Did it before.  Haven't forgotten."

   "Put your flute down.  Let's anchor and then we can both play." He
kicked the autopilot off and rounded us up into the wind.  I held the nose
there while the sails came down and the anchor was set.  Soon we were
swinging with the boat's bow in the wind and banjo and flute were wafting
over the waves, not that there were any others around to hear.

   While we're sitting here playing, I look at Stoney.  He's concentrating
on the fingering of a passage where he's pushed his banjo into a harp
sequence and I have a thought.  We've done this to each other: taken
something that was happy in one place and moved it into something totally
different and equally beautiful.  His solo wrapped up and I joined him,
flute at my lips, for the duet.  That's us.  Two solos.  One beautiful
duet.

   Cool, almost chilly, breeze out of the northwest, crystal clear day. 
The wind in the rigging, gentle rocking of the boat, and music with the guy
I love.

   When we stopped, he smiled for me.  "Jo, that's a bigger than normal
smile."

   "Because I have a bigger than normal happiness, Stoney," I said.  "Been
a whole week.  Still glad you married me?"

   "Actually it's been two since we howled at the moon together.  And I
dwell in ecstasy."

   "Good!" I said.  "Some of my classmates question my sanity."

   "I would guess, marryin' that old scar-faced guy."

   "Yeah.  And I point out that you're employed and stable and love me to
pieces and you're hung like a horse.  Like being married to a jackhammer
that can lick his own eyebrows."

   "You didn't!" he said.

   "No, but only because then some of those skanky little bitches would
hunt you down to look at your crotch."

   "You're talking about your fellow students."

   "Look, baby, a skanky bitch is a skanky bitch.  I know some that're
doing several guys a week."

   "I never could figure out that lifestyle," he said.

   "Nor I."

   "I'm glad, baby.  I've dodged a few of the other kind."

   "Keep dodging, Stoney.  I'm selfish.  I want you all to myself."

   "You've got me," he said.  I picked up my flute.

   "Let's try it one more time." We played through the piece, then went
below to put the instruments away.

   Stoney's turn:

   I found myself pushed forward into the main cabin.  I didn't fight that
very hard.  I appreciate Jo's enthusiasm.  I said so.

   Giggle.  "I sense that you're pretty enthusiastic yourself, sir."

   "Why, yes, young lady!  I do believe I am!"

   And off we went again.  In the aftermath, she nestled into my side,
dragging the covers over our bodies.

   "Princess," I said, "just so you know, if I die while we're making love,
just have me cremated."

   "Huh?"

   "You'd have to pay the funeral people extra to get the smile off my
face," I said.

   "Baby!  That's horrible."

   "Compared to you, the whole world is horrible."

   "You're my wonderful, happy Stoney," she smiled.  "You know, baby, we
have stuff on the boat.  We don't have to go back in tonight."

   "Don't tempt me."

   Her lips softly tracing the line between my cheek and jaw was all the
temptation I needed.  "You're not going to be bored out here?"

   "Stonewall Jackson," she sighed, punctuating her words with kisses, "I'm
not one of those kids that has to be connected and in a crowd to survive.
You.  Me.  Music.  Either we make it ourselves or we plug an iPod in, but
the weather's supposed to hold until tomorrow afternoon, so let's spend the
night.  And when it gets dark turn on the anchor lamp and then me and you,
naked, in the cockpit."

   I parsed that statement.  Two weeks ago this girl was a virgin. 
Self-assured, though, if memory serves.  Different.  Now she was taking
charge of our lives.  This schedule change was evidence.  Okay, choice
here, Stoney.  Fight it.  Disagree.  Or realize that you signed on with
this and just go with it.  I looked at the blue eyes, the hair swirled
across her face, the smile.

   "I love it when you have a plan, redhead," I said.

   "Good!" she said.  "Now lay back so I can cuddle you."

   "I will consider myself cuddled," I said.

   "Light's dim.  You can't see my freckles."

   "I adore your freckles," I said.  "Every one of them.  I want to kiss
each one.  We've had this talk."

   "We've had the talk where I think you're strange and I love you for it."

   Johanna's Turn:

   I'm liking this boat.  OUR boat.  Makes a nice, cozy nest.  Two people
can do a lot worse than have a nest like this.  Right now we're curled up
in the berth together, the boat is rocking almost imperceptibly and I'm
glowing.  In two places the glow is a bit brighter, more intense.  One is
my pussy, still tingling from the recent mating.  The second place is in my
head, because I'm here and I have my head on Stoney's chest and I can hear
his heartbeat and feel his breathing.  His cheek rests on the top of my
head and he loves me.

   Okay, I know that such a thought borders on the 'silly love-struck girl'
thing, but it's about time I got love-struck and to be honest, I
congratulate myself on my choice.  The guy's a Renaissance Man.  Warrior.
Okay, make that a reluctant warrior.  Engineer.  Musician.  Okay, that
part's kind of reluctant, too.  I find his avoidance of self-promotion to
be an endearing trait.  He's not fake.  He's not a poser.  He's not trying
to 'find his niche'.  He just IS.

   I feel his lips as he kisses the top of my head lightly.  That is
adoration, there.  Every little girl wants to be adored.  The smart ones
know that they need to have somebody to adore in return.  Mom told me many
times that marriage isn't a fifty-fifty thing, that if both participants
aren't in it a hundred percent, for the other person, then it's destined to
fail.  I saw my own dad weather a drive of way too many miles to get home
to be with Mom and me for something that a lot of other dads just shrugged
off as "I can't be there for everything".  And there was Dad front and
center, for my flute recital, and I could tell by the way that he grabbed
Mom's hand in the middle of it, I was seeing a hundred percent.

   I owe that to Stoney.  For both of us.

   Okay, I allow us a reverie.  A satiated, soft, reverie.  Finally he
stirred, I knew he was awake.  His breathing changed.

   "Hello, Love," I said.

   "Hello, my nymph," he replied.  "We might want to consider a meal."

   "You ARE the meal," I giggled softly.

   "Then perhaps we need an appetizer," he replied.

   "Just one more good cuddle," I countered, squeezing up against him like
I was trying to fuse our bodies together.

   He moaned.  I can get to this guy.  That's nice to know, but it's a
power that should be used sparingly.  I extracted another good kiss and
then eased myself out of the berth, still clad from waist up.  Well,
almost. I did the 'bra-less' thing today and my sweatshirt was up around my
armpits.  Note to self: Next time, just shed the darned thing.  It doesn't
take long getting it off or on, and I know how Stoney is about what I used
to think were horribly inadequate breasts.

   He's out of bed, still wearing his own sweatshirt, no bottoms, that
THING just sort of half-hard, looking like quite the toy to play with, you
know.  Temptation!  "Uh, Stoney, if you walk around with that thing
showing, we're gonna be back in bed."

   "Your choice," he said.  "We can live on love for a day or two."

   "Hmmm," I said.  "As much as I enjoy eating that thing, it's horribly
low on nutritive content.  Put some pants on.  Let's see what we can scare
up for dinner."

   Canned chicken, some broth, some noodles, some dried onion, and a dip
into the spice stash in the galley and we had a thick noodle soup going. 
The savory aroma soon had me salivating.  That was easily fixed, though. 
We had big soup mugs filled and sat in the cabin eating, sipping soft
drinks.

   "We can have hot chocolate later," I said.  "I saw the stuff in the
locker."

   "We can do that," he said.  "I guess that instant stuff is still good."

   "The packages are still flexible," I said.  "If they go bad, they get
stiff and hard." I giggled.  "That's BAD for instant chocolate."

   He looked at me and smiled.  He likes it.  I'm playing a little game
with him, though.  "I'm not, like, over-sexed, am I Stoney?  I mean, I want
you again."

   "Baby," he answered, " No, you're not over-sexed.  I want you at least
as much.  But I didn't want you to think I married you for just sex."

   "Uh, that never crossed my mind, guy.  If you just wanted sex, you
could've gotten that from other avenues." I knew, at least I had thought I
knew, and had no indication otherwise, that Stoney liked talking and
playing music and running the roads going places with me, and before we
decided to be married, he'd never tried anything more than kissing and
caressing, and on the caressing, I led the way into that.  And controlled
the limits, too.

   "And I don't want lots of sex, Stoney.  I want lots of love.  Including
the physical kind." That's me.  I didn't know it would be me.  Wasn't sure.
I know a lot.  I listen to my friends and other girls and I know that
there's a range of enjoyment to sex.  I know one or two who REALLY enjoy
it. A bunch that are 'meh...  ' and some who actually don't like it.  A lot
of the second and third groups still do it in varying amounts because they
think that sex is what it takes to keep a boyfriend around.

   I'm a bit analytical here.  I determined that I could keep the boyfriend
around first, without sex.  So I married 'im.  Figured that I'd do my very
best if I found out I was in that second or third group.  And I am very
happy to find out I'm in the first and even happier that this guy has been
taking me traipsing among the stars when it comes to making love.  So when
I see him smiling and the location is halfway fitting, I can wrap him
around my little finger with just a smile.  I'm all of Stoney's fetishes,
he tells me.  I didn't know I had fetishes.  He's mine.

   So we finished clean-up after dinner, wiping out the mugs carefully,
sluicing them with boiling water, putting them away, cleaning the pot and
the flatware.  And I grabbed him by his belt and tugged in the direction of
the main cabin.

   He takes a hint really well.

   "When It gets dark, we move this to the cockpit," I said.  Games.  We
played them.

   "I guess we're doing what every honeymooning couple ever wanted to do,"
he said.  "I always dreamed about it like this.  Well, maybe not on this
ol' boat."

   "I can't think of a better place," I said.  "And yes, it is in
installments.  We go to work and school like normal people, then we get on
our boat, and it's..." I couldn't help but giggle as I slid down his body.
I can stop him in mid-breath.  And I like it.  I like it all.

   Later, when he set the anchor light, we looked around.  There were no
other boats visible in the waning evening light.  The air was cool.  Not
too cool for nudity to be unpleasant, not as long as you knew that down
below was a bed waiting with a set of warm covers and an equally warm body
to generate heat.

   So we're in the cockpit and since the full moon was right around our
real wedding night on a Friday night two weeks ago, this time there's no
moon, just a billion stars.  And me and my Stoney.  The only clothing
between the two of us are our wedding bands.  We climb out of the cockpit
onto the cabin roof, standing naked in the starlight, kissing.  There's a
primal part of me that cries out for this.  This is good.  I have a list. I
can check off the one for the boat.  Now how do I get Stoney naked under
the skies in a meadow.  And in a forest glen.  And how does he know what
I'm thinking?

   "I need you, Johanna.  I need to worship you under the stars with the
primeval forest around us."

   My heart flutters.  It really does.  "Did I say something out loud,
Stoney?  About forests?"

   "No, my goddess.  You belong in the green forest, your white skin, your
red hair.  You're the stuff of fable and legend and myth."

   "You're my warrior bard, Stoney." If this is what it takes to carry me
away, then consider me carried.  I led him by the hand towards the cockpit,
where a folded towel would mute the cool fiberglass on his butt.  He sat.
Leaned back.  I straddled, impaled myself.

   He held me and loved me and kept me in his arms, weeping, after we came
together, until the chill started creeping into us.  We picked up our
towel, soggy spot and all, and went below.  Stoney lit the cabin heater to
help with the encroaching chill of the evening.  After the time out of the
cabin, the little cabin light seemed bright.

   "Now what was that about forests, little goddess?" he asked.

   "Stoney, sometimes we're scary together," I sighed.  "We were naked
under the stars and I was thinking that this was one of the places I wanted
to be naked with you.  The other two are a meadow and a forest glen.  And
that's when you made the 'forest' comment."

   "I had no idea.  Just seemed to be the words to say."

   "You meant it," I said, fixing his eyes with mine.

   "Absolutely.  Of course we might end up in jail if we get caught."

   "A risk I would take.  I dunno, Stoney.  You bring out something primal
in me."



   ------

   Chapter 24
Johanna:
Yes, it's primal.  The urge to mate.  Sociologists talk about it. 
Religions talk about it.  Poets talk about it.  It gets couched in various
cloaks: love, duty, morality.  But it's never right until two people decide
it's right for them.  And I'm thinking this in the dim light of the sun
streaming into the cabin through the portholes.  I hear the sound of waves
slapping the hull and the whistle of the wind on the mast and the rigging.
And the breathing of this guy next to me.  Sometime during the night we
ended up butt to butt.  That's okay as long as he's where he's supposed to
be.  But now I'm awake and I roll over very carefully, trying not to
disturb him.  I spoon up behind him and wiggle into close contact.  My arm

has to go over him.

   His breathing changes, his hand takes mine, holds it into his chest,
securing me.  My nose is at the nape of his neck.  I breathe deeply and
secure, I drift off in sweet slumber again.

   The next time I woke up, it was from the motion of him turning over to
kiss me.

   "Good morning, wild child," he said.

   "Good morning, man who makes me wild." I need to clear my head.  He
makes me crazy.  I'm trying to think of any other occasion in my whole life
where I would have counted it a good idea to stand naked, especially naked
with a man, outdoors.  Now I was plotting the reprise to last night.  This
is Texas.  A field of bluebonnets next spring would serve the meadow scene
quite nicely.  And we're not far from forests in any of several directions.
Stoney's girl has some plotting to do.

   "Coffee?" he said.  "After I..."

   "Hurry.  I'm right behind you."

   "You take the head," he said.  "I can go over the rail."

   "Gotcha," I said.  I felt the blast of cool air as he exited the cabin.
I noted that he did a quick scan before leaving the cabin, making sure that
he wasn't going to expose himself to nearby boats.  On a November morning,
there are few boats, none we can see.

   He's back down in the cabin and cockpit hatch is closed and we have the
water on the galley stove for coffee.  The other burner is holding a neat
toaster for toaster pastries.  That's breakfast.  We're in no hurry to get
back.  No hurry at all.  I do note that my guy has a day-old beard now. 
Definitely scratchy.  We need to be careful or I'm going to walk funny
tomorrow.  I mention that.

   "We have other options..." he starts.

   I shake my head violently.  "But I really enjoy that," I said.  "You
just need to be careful."

   "That's kind of subtle for a hint, Jo-baby."

   I giggled.  "Who said anything about 'subtle'."

   "Grrrrr," he growled, pushing me from the main saloon into the forward
cabin.  We started out laughing.  It got serious when his head descended
past my navel.  I squealed.  I laughed.  I hissed.  I shuddered.  First
one. Second one, I passed out.  Just entirely too much.  I woke up in
Stoney's arms, his little kisses on my face.

   "One for each freckle," he said.  "Each, perfect, whimsical, delightful
bit of facial punctuation."

   I'm melting.  At least part of me.  He told me early on, "Just so you
know, sweetness, if it's hard, then I am more than willing to make love
with you.  You don't have to analyze or calculate.  If I'm hard, I want
you."

   We put that criterion to the test until noon.  Aside from the fact that
we both have commitments and that the boat has a minimal level of food
stored, I'd easily be swayed to staying on it for weeks.  What else do we
need?  We have each other.  Music, either make our own, or dip into the
selections on two iPods.  Fuel?  Full tank.  Hundred gallons.  A thousand
miles under engine power.  Or if the sail's up, the mileage gets really
good.  We can run the engine to keep batteries charged.  Fresh water? 
Hundred and fifty gallons, plus a few cases of bottled water for drinking.

   "Don't make me dream that dream, little one," Stoney said.  "We could do
the circle of the Caribbean.  Once we decide, we don't have but a few
places where we'd really need to be out of sight of land for more than a
day if that's what we wanted."

   "Make me dream with you, Stoney.  You didn't buy this boat to keep it in
the bay."

   "We'd kill the winter," he said.  "You don't want to be in the Caribbean
from May to November.  Hurricane season.  And as lovely as she is, this is
not a blue-water boat unless you're very careful about your choice of
routes."

   "Well, we're keeping this boat," I said.  "Not many people get to own
their honeymoon cottage.  We do."

   "We'll keep 'er until you tell me to get something else, sweetness," he
said.  A few more kisses.  "It's cool enough for long sleeves, baby.  And
If we pull the hook up now, we can have a late lunch onshore."

   "Oooo-kay," I said.  "We need to be responsible, I guess."

   "Yes we do," he said.  "You have a piccolo to play with and I have a
power grid to poke around."

   "I guess," I said.  In my head I was thinking 'What magic has this man
worked upon me?' because I was ever the sane one of any group in which I
claimed membership.  Now I was considering turning my brand new husband
into a sailing bum.  Johanna Elise, what manner of witchcraft has been
wrought upon you?

   Togs for the day for the two of us were jeans, boat shoes, sweatshirts
and a couple of boonie hats, mine because a little suntan on my
Nordic-Irish skin and I'd be buried under a pile of prominent freckles and
Stoney's because Stoney's got a bit of sense about sunburn.

   "My turn to weigh anchor," I told him.

   "You sure?  I can get it.  You handle the engine and the helm pretty
well."

   "My boat, Stoney.  I need to be able to do it all."

   "You're more than adequate as First Mate," he snarked.

   "First Mate.  And better be ONLY mate, buddy.  Lest they find your
floating carcass covered with fat, juicy crabs."

   I got the anchor stowed, sluiced my hands free of sticky mud with a
stream of water from the washdown pump as Stoney motored us slowly
homeward.

   "Let me try to get us under sail," I said.

   "Your boat, Jo," he said.

   It is.  And I paid attention when he performed those tasks, so I
repeated the actions, soon had what looked like an acre of dacron up and
filled with wind.  He killed the little diesel and folded his arms.  "Set
the sail.  Choose the course.  I'm here at your command." And he crossed
his arms.

   Okay, if Stoney can single-hand this thing, Jo can do it, too.  I
remember Dad telling me about the wind and sails and how giving up a few
points into the wind could be made up in speed, and the wake was making
happy burbling noises as we cut through the short chop of the bay.  I took
one more tug on the mainsheet winch and relaxed into the cockpit beside
Stoney.  "Well?"

   "I should have expected no less," he said.  "Perfect." He paused.  "The
boat, too."

   Sadly, on a return trip, there's a time where the sail must come down. I
demanded that Stoney let me handle that task as well, and we motored into
the channel and worked our way into the marina.  Gary was fueling a
good-sized powerboat, a cruiser, when we turned into the marina.  He waved.
We waved back.

   "Are you still being hard-headed?  You gonna moor us?" Stoney asked.

   "Just be ready in case I screw up," I said.  "It's one thing in open
water.  Here..." I could just see us crunching into a piling, or worse,
another boat.  Okay, he helped a little.

   We secured the boat, started piling bags on the dock, my overnighter and
his, the bags of garbage from the trip, a bag of laundry including some
sticky towels.  And I heard the geese.

   "Here come my buddies," I said.  Geese like Cheetos.  And flute music.

   Gary was standing at the head of the finger dock with his arms crossed,
smiling.  "I'm glad you married 'im, Jo," he said.  "I'm starting to get
spoilt to these little concerts, you know."

   "I'm happy to provide them," I said.  I giggled about my two-goose
orchestral backup.  "And I give the geese an artistic purpose in life." I
played a little more and then stowed the flute.  Stoney and I chatted with
Gary for a bit, loaded up, and headed home, with a side stop for that late
lunch.  At home, we started the laundry and I opened up the piccolo case
and set up my sheet music.

   Stoney's head came out of the laundry room.  "You have done this
before," he said.

   "Every year, Memorial Day, Independence Day and Veterans' Day for the
past several years," I said.  "You do know that the Saturday concert isn't
just our chamber orchestra?  It's the whole band."

   "Really," he said.  "So there are literally dozens of young males trying
to play music while lusting after you."

   "And whose coat will I have on for the concert?"

   "Oh, yeah.  Let's see how that fits."

   Stoney still had his dress uniform in a garment bag in the closet.  I
know.  I looked at every nook and cranny of the place when I moved in with
him.  He went to the closet, took the bag out, and unzipped it, removing
the jacket.  It was still ready for inspection, rank, service branch
insignia (Engineer Corps), nameplate and an array of ribbons.  At the top
of the array was the red, white and blue ribbon of the Silver Star.  Dad
showed me what it looked like when I asked him, so I knew it when I saw
Stoney's.

   "Here," he said, holding the jacket for me to get my arms into. 
Stoney's a good-sized guy.  The jacket fit me like a tent.  He surveyed the
result.  "Is this gonna even work?"

   "Yes, it will work.  Last year I wore Dad's.  I need to pin up the
sleeves so my hands won't be tied up."

   "Uh, pins aren't something I have," he said.

   "Well, I do, sir!  A wise person is prepared for emergencies." Mom had
drilled into me the need for her, as she called it, 'survival kit', a
little case with needles, thread, pins, a selection of buttons, a big bag
of safety pins, some textile cement and little scraps of material.  I'd
been the subject of more than one of her patch jobs before a recital.  I
retrieved the kit and opened it.

   "You have one just like this," I said.  "In your SUV.  And in the closet
by the front door."

   "I don't like be be caught flat-footed," he said.

   "And this is my mom's version for clothing," I said.  "Now help me fold
these sleeves in." We got that accomplished, I tried his hat on, added a
few strips of paper behind the sweatband so it wouldn't slip down over my
eyes.  And he took pictures.

   "Criminal act," he said.

   "How so?"

   "Wearing a uniform when you're not authorized."

   "Nay, good sir," I said.  "We've fought this battle already.  Some
1960's hippie retread tried to toss cold water on us last year over that.
We snagged an opinion from the federal prosecutor.  As long as we're not
representing ourselves as members of the armed forces, we're clear."

   "Thought so," he said.  "Glad you got it straight."

   I put on both the jacket and the hat and ran through the piece that
would showcase me and my piccolo.

   "Just a second," Stoney said.  "I got this."

   "What?"

   "Boston Pops.  Stars and Stripes Forever." He punched it up on the
stereo and I played right along while he smiled.

   We managed to make it through the week yet again.  Monday, like always,
is practice night at my old apartment.  Key's still there and another girl
has moved in, sharing the rent again.  Her new roomie's another music major
so the Monday madness continues on.  A lot of the conversation was music
snob stuff about us in the chamber orchestra mixing with the common folk of
the university concert band.  I can agree with some of that.  I think music
should stand on its own merits and walking in unusual patterns is not an
enhancement.

   Naturally, Mom and Dad hit town on Friday.  The only time Dad missed my
concerts was when he was deployed to Iraq.  Stoney nobly offered his spare
bedroom (yes, he's got one, all made up pretty, like something from a
catalog page.) to Mom and Dad.

   Dad was properly appreciative.  Mom laughed.  "Stoney, Stoney ...  Thank
you so much for the offer.  Anders and I shall enjoy our hotel and you and
Johanna can enjoy your home and neither us nor you will be subjected to
uncomfortable self-restraint."

   I watched Stoney while he was receiving this reply.  He turned bright
red.  I asked him why the blush later and he recounted the conversation.

   "And you got embarrassed by my mother.  Who indicated that we might make
noise while making love."

   "No, that's not it, baby," he said, completely serious.  "It's not that
we make noise, it's that THEY make noise.  And she admitted it to me."

   I couldn't help but smile, suppressing a little giggle as I touched his
face.  "Stoney my love, Mom and Dad love each other, sometimes rather
enthusiastically, I'm afraid.  I've heard what went on when Dad got back
from an assignment.  I think it has a lot of bearing on how I am with you.
If that's the way that the two people who brought me up express their love
for one another, then that just might be the way I express MY love..." I
looked at my husband.  "You need kissing..." I took care of that little
need.  "Besides, we're having dinner with them tonight."

   "Thought so.  I was really trying to be nice, you know."

   "You are, baby.  Very nice.  That's one reason why I married you." I
kissed him.  "Mind you, just ONE reason."

   So Friday after I got out of class in early afternoon, I hurried back to
our apartment and tidied up.  Mom was not exactly a neat freak, but our
house was always in proper order when I was growing up.  I made sure that
ours was equally well maintained, not that Stoney and I were slobs, mind
you.  Flowers.  The place needed flowers.  A vase full of marigolds
brightened the place and filled the air with a springtime aroma.  Well,
it's spring somewhere...

   Stoney and Mom and Dad showed up almost together.  Actually, Stoney beat
them by a tad.  Walked in the door, scooped me into his arms and kissed me.
"I completely love and adore you, you redheaded devil," He said.

   "So she's a redheaded devil, is she?" came Mom's voice.  Stoney hadn't
pushed the front door closed.

   "Come in, Mom.  Dad." I said.

   They walked in.  I hugged my parents.  Stoney shook Dad's hand but Mom
had him hugged before he knew what he was doing.

   "Let's sit," I said.

   "You're two weeks into being married to my daughter, Stoney," Anders
said.  "Second thoughts?"

   "Dozens of them," Stoney said.  "I'm ready to give her back.  You can
keep the deposit."

   "Why, pray tell," Mom asked.  She knew he was kidding.

   "She has a horrible propensity for puns.  She puts ketchup directly on
her french fries.  She squeezed the toothpaste tube from the middle and
laughed about it when I pointed it out.  She makes fun of the way I put on
shoes."

   "Dear," Mom addressed me, "I told you to go slowly with his training. 
You get raw material..." she eyed Anders, "And it is up to you to turn it
into something useful.  If you bend steel too quickly, it breaks.  Proceed
slowly.  And remember, with steel, you must keep the fire burning hotly."

   Mom's got a smirk.  Dad says I inherited it from her.

   "That would be the 'self-restraint' comment you made to my husband that
caused him to turn colors, no doubt," I said.

   "Dear," Anders said, addressing Bridgette, "Do not scare off our
son-in-law."

   "Anders Solheim!  He voluntarily entered into this arrangement.  He must
bear the good as well as the bad!"

   "Yes, my dear."

   I watched Stoney as he watched my parents being, well, the same parents
that I'd known forever.  I love them.  Stoney's learning.

   He looked at Dad.  "I see you've gotten further along in your training
than I have."

   "Son," he said, "My American grandmother used the phrase, 'I know which
side my bread is buttered on'.  It's not proper grammar, but it is a
fitting phrase." He smiled.

   This is the way my mom and dad have always been, conversation is back
and forth, give and take, punctuated with smiles when it's good things and
sighs when it's not.  I relax, backing into Stoney's arms.  This is good.
When I did this, and Stoney wrapped me in his arms possessively, Mom
smiled. She knows.

   So we talked about work and school and Mom volunteering with a church
group and a few other things before heading out to obtain dinner.  We
weren't in a hurry to get out of the place, so following the entree, we
elected for desserts and coffees and being female, I had a motive when I
told Mom that she and I needed to visit the ladies' room.

   Out of earshot of our husbands, I told Mom.  "I talked to Dad about us
meeting with Stoney's platoon sergeant last week.  Mom, since then, he's
not had an episode."

   "What did the sergeant tell him?" Mom asked.

   "Harland, Sergeant Graves, told Stoney how he saw Stoney go down, then
try to get up, and finally to crawl over to check on his men.  He ended up
next to Sergeant Graves and saved him from one last attacker, then passed
out for good."

   "Oh, my!" Mom said.

   "That's the story.  Harland says he tried getting Stoney put in for a
Medal of Honor, but they weren't doing those for people who didn't die. 
And they cut it to a Silver Star because the area they were in wasn't
supposed to be that dangerous.  Mom, Stoney killed that last guy with a
knife."

   "Stoney.  Our gentle, sweet Stoney."

   "Yes, Mom.  My gentle, smart, kind, Stoney.  That killed a guy a week
ago to protect me."

   "You have a good one, Johanna.  I've known men who would walk around
thumping their chests about things they only imagined themselves doing. 
You have one that DID.  And he appears to adore you."

   "Oh, Mom, he does.  I really think he does.  It's so wonderful.  He
looks at me like Dad looks at you."

   "Your dad is a special man, baby."

   "I know that, Mom.  I can see.  And compare."

   "Your dad and I are proud of you, dear.  You know that.  And we're very
happy to see Stoney with you.  Excuse me.  I really do..." She backed away
and opened a stall.  I did the same.

   We came out, stood before the mirrors and I did a touch-up of my hair.

   "Still not a drop of make-up, dear?" Mom asked.

   "No, Mom.  This is what Stoney wants."

   "Ah, you have the face for it, dear," Mom said.

   "Got that from you, Mom."

   "I'll take credit for the red hair and the horrid freckles.  Which your
dad likes, apparently.  But the shape of those eyes, that's your dad's
contribution."

   "Mom, there's this one guy who thinks I'm beautiful.  And I went and
married him."

   "As it should be.  I ...  We, your father and I, when you first
announced, we thought you were just finally going to take the path of most
girls, just a bit later in life.  And when you announced that Stoney was
the ONE, we agreed that he appeared to be a good choice.  And now, I am
sure that you have done well."

   "Thank you, Mom," I said simply.  I know how traumatic daughters can be
for parents.  I listen to my friends and some people who were decidedly not
friends, and I watched what went on in the neighborhood on Dad's last
military assignment.  I loved Mom and Dad too much to put myself ahead of
them.

   "Let us go give our mates the benefit of our presence," Mom said with a
smile.

   Reaching the table, our men stood up.  I thought about how gallant such
a move was in this day.  Anachronistic.  Then I considered that my 'mate',
as Mom had termed him, had resorted to a bare blade in combat.  Okay,
maybe, just maybe he is a man out of time.

   "I bought Stoney and me martinis, Johanna," Dad said.  "We've been
having a serious talk."

   I looked at Stoney.  He caught my gaze and straightened his back.

   "You didn't tell me that you talked to your dad about Harland, baby," he
said.

   I read his body language.  Not mad.  Not upset.  "Dad's my anchor on
these matters, baby," I said.  "You know we started having this
conversation, you and I and Mom and Dad.  I just gave him a progress
report." I touched Stoney's forearm.  His hand gently covered mine. 
Affirmation.

   "It's been a mess for so long, Jo.  I met you, my life turned a corner."

   "Son," Dad said.  Technically, Stoney's a little too old to be Dad's
son, but if Stoney doesn't object, I'm fine with it.  Dad continued, "One
thing that can really help in these things is a supportive person in your
life.  It can be difficult for that person, because if things do not go
well, that person often feels that she is failing, so two people begin to
suffer." Dad smiled softly for me.  "I think that Johanna knows enough to
avoid that pitfall."

   Dad put his hand on my arm.  "Another thing, most times the support
person was there before the incident, so it is something dropped into their
lives.  Johanna understood some of your experiences.  She came to you with
her heart and her head open to you."

   "I never thought of it like that," Stoney said.  "You're correct.  She
did know.  I didn't want a relationship to develop on less than the whole
truth about me."

   "I talked to you, Dad," I said.  "You told me what I could be getting
into, And I knew Stoney.  And since Harland visited..."

   "I haven't.  Not once since then.  And it was five nights out of six,"
Stoney said.  "I'm not saying it's over.  But Harland ...  Sergeant Graves,
told me a lot of things.  Things I just did not remember."

   "Yours is not the first story like that that I've heard, Stoney," Dad
said.  "The human mind has some strange mechanisms to handle situations it
cannot fathom.  Suppression of the memory is but one." He sighed. 
"Suppression of memories gets a lot of bad press, but it's real.  You
experienced it."

   "Yessir."

   "I don't know," Dad said, "it's not my area of expertise, but if you've
experienced a change, then maybe it was the turning point."

   "We hope so," Mom said.

   On the way home, Stoney was at first, quiet.  "You okay, baby?"

   He nodded.  "Yeah.  Better."

   "I didn't mean to overstep my bounds," I said softly.  I sensed he was
turning a lot of things over in his mind.

   "Johanna Elise," he said, "You're my wife.  You have no bounds." He
freed a hand from the steering wheel to give my arm a squeeze.  "It's just
that every day I wake up with you, I find how wide that a world might be
that contains my Johanna."

   "Then you're not mad at me?"

   "No, of course not," he said.  "I'm just sorry that the evening ended on
such a downer."

   "Evening's not over yet," I said.



   ------

   Chapter 25

   Lovely, languid, quiet Saturday morning.  Waking up next to a soft form.
I have to touch that sweetly curved hip, just to tell myself I am not
dreaming.  The touch elicits a purr and a movement, several movements,
actually, one of which put an arm around me.  The hand at the end of the
arm started exploring, finding morning wood.

   "Mmmmm, Stoney, is that for me?"

   "Yes, but be careful.  It's loaded."

   "I thought we emptied it last night," she said, twisting in the bed. 
Her head dipped for a quick suck.  "I love doing this to you, Stoney.  You
look so appreciative."

   "I'm surprised that I have enough presence of mind to work up an
expression at all," I said, then sucked a breath in sharply as her head
dipped down.

   "You do know that I expect quid pro quo?" And another sliding suck, this
time with teeth.

   "I was hoping so.  You're delicious."

   Okay, after that, showers were required, and following the showers,
breakfast up the street at the corner diner, a short walk.

   "We could've called your mom and dad," I said.

   "What?" She giggled.  "We could've got them right in the middle of..."

   "You think?"

   "I KNOW," she grinned.  "Mom relates that with me in college and out
from underfoot, Dad has renewed interest."

   I laughed, then thought about that.  "When I'm your dad's age, I hope
you still..."

   "I will wear you out, boy," she said.

   "I will spend the rest of my life hoping that you try," I laughed.  Hand
in hand we walked down the block to the restaurant, took our time with
breakfast and coffee.

   This was a frequent haunt for me, pre-Johanna, so the sudden appearance
of her on my arm, punctuated with two gold wedding bands was a reason for
several of the other regulars to approach and exchange small talk.  Jo
handled it well, gracious, smiling, even funny.

   How about that!  A mate that I'm actually happy to show to the general
population.  No screaming offspring of her and a disappeared daddy.  No
gum-popping 'I'm quitting smoking THIS time.  For real!'.  No 'We were
drunk an' partyin' and I got really blitzed and it's just a little tattoo.'
No, this was intelligent, red-headed, talented, sociable and pretty in a
startling way.

   "You're thinking again," she said as the last greeter walked away.

   "Not really.  Just being impressed."

   "At what?"

   "At my good sense," I said.

   Blue eyes laughed.  "And what tells you that you have good sense this
time?"

   I looked at her over my coffee cup.  "That I had the good sense to wait
until you showed up to fall in love."

   She giggled.  "Like you had a choice in the matter."

   "I really didn't," I said.  "No choice at all.  You or nobody."

   "You two sure look happy," the waitress said when she delivered our
ticket.  "Stoney, you married a real doll."

   "Thank you," Jo said.

   "I did," I replied.

   "I was wondering," the waitress replied.  She's one of my favorites,
fiftyish, competent, comfortable with the job, her bantering with the
Saturday morning regulars was sharp and flirty.  I think she saw me as an
anomaly, younger than a lot of the regulars, but not one of the occasional
smart-mouthed youngsters that showed up, either.  "You never showed up with
anyone before.  And when you do?  Bang!  Married!"

   "Yeah," I said, doing my best 'Aw, shucks' act.  "I found Johanna."

   "And I found him," Jo said.  "So I'm keeping him." She grinned, all the
way to where her nose wrinkles, a move that stopped my heart the first time
she did it to me.

   I dragged my credit card out to pay the tab and after I signed the
ticket, we left to walk back to the apartment

   "You're not nervous?" I asked.

   "Why?  This is what I do.  There are a few things I live for, Stoney. 
Mom and Dad, music, and you.  And none of them make me nervous."

   I knew inside my head that she was right.  The first time I saw her in
concert, poised, confident, adept, her and her love of her music putting
that smile on her face.  "You're right.  It's your gift."

   "One of 'em," she said, swinging my hand in hers.  "You're the other
one."

   No lunch with her parents today.  They were meeting with old friends. 
We went by Jo's old apartment and talked with Key.

   "Where's Hutch?" I asked.

   "Setting up some equipment at a new bank in Arizona," Key said.  "Won't
be back until next week.  That's why we decided for him to not move in. 
He's got his place and when he's in town, I'm there.  But right now they're
shifting over their whole hardware setup and he's not staying in town much,
and Jo knows I don't like bein' by myself, so I stay here with Katrina, she
gets a place, I get a place, an' when Hutch gets back ...  An' Cherie likes
going to the markets on Saturday morning.  She'll be back in a bit."

   Her eyes bounced back and forth between me and Jo.  "You wearin' your
Dad's coat this year?"

   "Nope.  Stoney's."

   "I was wondering ...  Hutch said something about that new law about
wearing military decorations..."

   "We talked to a federal prosecutor, remember?" Jo said.  "We've been
doing this.  The new law is about impersonating a serviceman or veteran. 
We don't represent ourselves as anything, we wear those things to honor
family members who've served."

   "That's what I thought.  But Hutch keeps askin'," Key said.  "Said he'd
hate for me to get arrested for wearin' Great Granpa's Eisenhower jacket."

   "Eisenhower jacket?" I asked.

   "You know your military history, husband of my friend?" she said.

   "Try me."

   "Red Ball Express."

   "Easy," I said.  "World War II.  Europe.  A slang name for a
transportation unit with black enlisted men and mostly white officers. 
Pulled off some really epic logistics feats."

   "Papaw was a master sergeant in the Red Ball Express.  I got his jacket.
I wear it for our Veterans' Day concert.  Jo's been wearin' her dad's, but
this year she's yours..."

   "Or I'm hers..."

   "Whatever, white boy," she laughed, flashing that smile.

   "What about you and Hutch?  Serious?" I asked.

   "Yaknow," she said, "we are.  He doesn't want to do that shack-up thang,
and I know it would kill my mom an' dad if I did."

   "So marriage?" Jo squealed.

   "Not a formal announcement, but after graduation some time." She smiled.

   I liked Key.  Like I said early in the relationship between me and Jo,
Key was more than a little attractive.  Had she not been eclipsed by
Johanna, and had she, like Johanna, shown a bit of interest.  Her being
black?  Not a problem to me, although I wondered idly how a mixed race
relationship might work where the girl was as obviously connected to family
as Key was.

   It was because I liked Key that I found her indications of her choice of
futures to be a pleasant topic for discussion.  "I hope Hutch knows what
sort of person he's messing with."

   "Oh," she said, lapsing into her version of ghetto vernacular, "he don't
be messin'.  He be completely serious."

   Jo squealed in glee.  "I'm sooo happy for you, Key!"

   "Me too," I said, "even though you never got to present me to your
folks."

   Key laughed.  "You know, next time I get 'em here for a weekend, you two
need to join us.  They loved Jo.  They'll be interested in what it took to
carry 'er off."

   "Then they'll be happy it was Stoney," Jo said.  "Just like I imagine
they're happy about you and Hutch.  They HAVE met Hutch, right?"

   "I sent 'em pictures.  Does that count?"

   "But they know you're serious?" Jo asked.

   "Yeah, they know we're more serious than I usually am." Key grinned. 
"If Hutch makes it back today, we may just tell 'em tonight."

   "Do you anticipate issues?" I asked.  "I mean, I've seen the guy a
couple of times and he seems nice."

   "He IS nice," Key said.  "He's not full of himself and tryin' to prove
some sort of 'street cred' by acting ghetto and treating women like
fixtures in a rap video." She saw my expression and rolled on.  "I want a
guy like Dad, not some baggy-pants'ed bozo flashin' gang signs."

   "Don't egg 'er on, Stoney," Jo said, "Unless you want to hear one of a
series of presentations entitled 'Keshia's Observations On Positive Role
Models'."

   Key's face twisted in feigned horror.  "Seriously?  Was I that bad?"

   Jo laughed.  "No, you were not!  You were memorable, though."

   "Stoney, just so you aren't misled by my erstwhile room-mate, she and I
had some long, serious talks about life and those who populate it."

   "A suitable topic, no doubt," I said.

   "Another word for it is gossip," Key laughed.  "But with a goal."

   "Strictly intellectual, then?  No prurient interest?" I asked.

   "Oh, no.  We were very careful to be all sensitive and understanding and
stuff," Key laughed.  Jo laughed right along with her.

   "And tell me that guys don't do that," Jo smirked.

   "We don't," I said.  "We stand around the coffee-maker discussing world
events and emerging technologies."

   "Yeah, right!" Jo said.  "I didn't hear a lot of that at lunch with you
and your friends."

   "You have lunch with him an' 'is friends?"

   Jo giggled.  "I serve a function.  I get to the lunch place early and
get a table for them.  I get one guy who adores me and another guy and a
lady who are glad to get a table for lunch."

   "Sounds like fun," Key said.

   "And it raises my stature that I have a young, hot wife."

   "Stoney!" she squealed.  "Really?!?"

   "Yes, cutie," I said, "I have been told that I do indeed have a hot
young wife, along with the obvious questions like 'Didja knock 'er up?' and
'Is it true about redheads and tempers?' and things like that." I saw her
face sort of fall.  "But there are more of the 'congratulations, buddy!'
and 'Damn!  She's a cute little thing' and 'Is that HER playing that piece
on your phone?' and even 'Does she know what kind of a deal she's
getting?'..."

   "Who told you that?" Jo jumped in.

   "A lady who was trying to fix me up with her friend.  Her 'two kids, no
daddy' friend.  Her 'I think that this time rehab is working' friend."

   Key whistled.  "Oh, that kind of friend."

   "And honestly, she might've been a perfectly wonderful person, but as
they say, 'that's not the way to bet'," I said.  "And every married woman
has single friends who need 'fixing up', and a single engineer..."

   "You, sir, are NOT single, and you never WERE single, you were just
wandering aimlessly until you found me," Jo laughed.

   "Perfect description of my life, sweetness."

   "Is Hutch like that with you, Key?" Jo asked her.

   "He ain't that poetic, but, uh, yeah..." she smiled.  "He's got 'is
attractions."

   We finally left Key's place, saw Cherie's little car heading up the
street as we headed in t he opposite direction.  "Cherie's kind of
strange," Jo said.

   "Strange?"

   "Yeah.  What did you call it?  'Earth child?' All natural this and
organic that.  Kind of pushy about it for a while, but she's mellowed."

   "Some people make those choices," I said.  "Sometimes it's their
anchor."

   "Music.  Music was my anchor," Jo said quietly.

   "Don't outgrow that," I said.

   "I won't," she said.  "But it was my anchor.  It's still important, and
it's a lot of who I am, but my anchor is driving this car right now."

   "That's what marriage is supposed to be.  At least part of it," I
opined.

   "A good part," Jo said.  She paused, giggled, and gave me a happy
squeeze.  "THIS," she announced, "is another good part.  Going to sleep
together is a good part.  Waking up with you is a good part.  Coming home
together is a good part.  Lots of good parts."

   I can't help but smile as I think about the things she just listed.  The
simple idea of having her next to me all night was indeed a good thing, as
were all the others.  "You are the good part, redhead," I said.  "I never
really knew what I wanted until I met you."

   "And now you've got me."

   We pulled back into the parking at our apartment and went inside. 
Refuge.  My apartment had always been a sort of refuge, my castle standing
against the hordes, but for years it had been lonely in ways that have
become so apparent in the last few weeks.  All it took was Jo.  And Jo was
standing in the atrium, waiting for me to close the door.

   I locked it behind me.  "So you need to be at the music building at
one-thirty," I said.  "Light lunch?"

   "Soup and a sandwich?" she smiled.

   "We can do that.  What's the dress for this thing?  For me?  Audience?"

   "Casual," she said.  "Veterans are encouraged to wear something related
to their service.  You game?"

   "I have my boonie hat," I said.  "And you'll have my coat."

   "Wear your hat, Stoney.  I think that's more in keeping with the real
you.  Less about show.  Subdued."

   I gazed at those blue eyes.  This lady was trying to know me.  To
understand.  Because she cared.  I could do nothing to keep myself from
scooping her into my arms.  The expression on the face before me was pure
love.  "I love you, Johanna," I said.

   "Good," she replied.  "Because I love you and I want to find out if I
meet your requirements as a preparer of canned soup and grilled cheese
sandwiches." Her eyebrows arched, telling me that the concerned look she
tried to work up was all in fun.

   "If you fail at sandwich-making, I shall have to find your other
talents, dear.  I hope you have some."

   Her lips contacted my neck, followed by her teeth.  I shook from head to
foot.  She'd learned that trick early on.  A breathy voice in my ear said,
"And that's just for starters."

   And she makes good sandwiches, a task accomplished while I stripped the
bed and put a load of laundry on.  We ate lunch and then it was time to
dress for the afternoon concert.  I dropped her at the music building and
then went to the auditorium and met Anders and Bridgette.

   Easy to find them.  Look for the six foot-four Viking with the redhead
alongside.  I waved, got Bridgette's attention first, and she nudged her
husband.  They stood before the steps until I was with them.  I shook
Anders' hand, hugged Bridgette.

   "Glad you could make it," I said.

   "We always try," Anders said.  "I wasn't always successful, but I
tried."

   "I can imagine," I said.  I knew the routine all too well from married
soldiers I'd associated with in the service, how field exercises always
seems coordinated with birthdays and school functions for kids, and of
course, there were the big ones, deployments and unaccompanied tours.

   "Yes, and finally we're in a position where she stays in one place and
we can come to her," Bridgette said.

   We took our seats, seeking something in the center of the hall, several
rows back.  The musicians filed in, dozens of them.  I recognized faces
from the orchestra.  You have to know I was looking for THE one in
particular.  And there she was, wearing the jacket from my dress uniform,
red hair pushed back over her ears, my service cap (with a few strips of
paper behind the sweatband, for fit) on her head.

   Anders leaned over and whispered, "Stoney, this is confirmation that she
is yours.  My little girl has left her dad and taken up with her husband."

   "As it should be," Bridgette added.

   "She will always be your daughter," I countered.  "But yes.  My wife."

   The audience rose for the honor guard presenting the colors and remained
standing for the national anthem, then we sat to enjoy the concert.  It
promised to be enjoyable, in a 'Boston Pops' sort of way, a fine selection
of patriotic songs filling the program.  Conducting for the festivities was
to be shared between Bob, who specialized in the orchestra, and the guy who
oversaw the marching band.

   The latter was the more dramatic of the two, and he introduced the first
piece, noting that there were veterans aplenty in the audience, asking us
to stand.  He also noted that there were three veterans in the band, and
that a number of members were wearing memorabilia of their families., and
then the music began.

   It climaxed with Stars and Stripes Forever.  It's a favorite piece of
mine, made even more memorable when the piccolo figured prominently, with
my Jo rising from her seat to project the sounds over the stage and into
our ears.  My Jo.  My perfect Johanna, piccolo at her lips, her smile
altered only by the necessities of the instrument.  Flawless.  Perfect.

   And she plays well, too.

   "You two must be terrible proud of her," I told Anders and Bridgette
when it was over.

   Bridgette smiled.  A thought flashed in my mind.  This was going to be
Johanna in twenty odd years.  This is the same smile.  "We are very proud,
Stoney.  She has made us very happy parents."

   "I hope you know that we're bringing you two out for dinner," Anders
said.  He looked at Bridgette.  "Or is that a conversation that didn't make
it past our daughter?"

   "Doesn't matter," I laughed, shaking my head.  "I am just a puppy
following her around, wagging my tail."

   "Bridgette tells me as much from her conversations with Johanna," Anders
chuckled.  "I'm of a similar mind, son-in-law."

   "You're a big guy, Anders.  Hard to think that..."

   "That I could be led around by the nose by Bridgette?" He smiled.  "I
find that except for certain very rare occasions, where she takes me is
where I should be."

   Bridgette elbowed him.  "I am not a demanding shrew, Anders!"

   "No, my dear, you are not.  I simply indicate that you often have
solidified your idea before I arrive at a similar conclusion."

   Dinner was pleasant, rife with conversations about Jo's history as a
precious child, provided by Bridgette, her career as a redheaded
dare-devil, provided by Anders, and a lot of denials by Jo.  One of these
days we have to visit her parents so I can see the family photo album.

   Bridgette and Anders left us in the restaurant parking lot, heading to
their own hotel for the evening, with intent to catch an early flight home.
Jo and I navigated back to our apartment.

   "Home!" she said as the door closed behind us.  She pushed me back
against the closed door and kissed me.

   "Long day," I said.

   She put the piccolo case in the closet, speaking over her shoulder. 
"Yes, it has been.  I love that concert, but I wanna be back with the
chamber orchestra.  I desire the Vienna School and structure and symmetry."

   "Yeah, me, too," I said.  "I love patriotic music as much as anybody and
I admit to my back straightening up at the sound of a march, but I need to
live through a Mozart concerto..."

   "How about we kick our shoes off and stretch on the sofa and do that?"
she gazed at me with sky-blue eyes, then the smile deepened.  "Or we can
shower, and listen to that in bed..."

   I kissed her nose.  "You know good and well that I won't hear the music
because of the symphony you play on all my other senses..."

   "Warrior poet," she said, "let's go take a shower.  And then we'll play
with each other's senses."

   "Faerie princess, I follow," I said.

   I did.  We did.  Out of the shower, clean, happy, and with a very good
idea of how to end the day.

   Her stirring next to me in the morning woke me up.  Another night, all
sleep, no dreams, no cold sweat.  No ghosts.  No memories that defied
quieting.  I gently slide up behind her, my arms wrapping her, my precious,
holding her to me.  A little wiggle and a purr told me that she was
somewhere between sleep and waking.  I remained silent, felling her
breathing, her warmth.  In the half-light of the curtained bedroom, she was
only dimly visible, leaving me to savor her beauty with senses other than
vision.

   I buried my nose in the loose hair at the back of her neck and breathed
deeply.

   "I'm awake, Stoney," came the soft voice.

   "How long?"

   "Since I snuggled back against you and woke you up.  And you pulled me
into your arms.  And I wanted to feel you wake up with me."

   "I keep thinking it's all a dream, my pet," I said.

   "Not a dream, Stoney.  You're real." She twisted around to face me,
interlacing our legs together.  Her hand found my erection.  It's more than
'morning wood' since I married Johanna.  "You're VERY real," she giggled.
"And when you're like this, I'm..."

   My exploratory hand touched, a finger dipped into moist, wet lips.  "I
think I know what you are..."

   "Am I, like, too much?"

   "No, princess, you're more than I ever dared to dream, but not too
much."

   "You know, Mister Stonewall Jackson," she said, "You've said that
several times.  I want you to know something." Her tone was just a little
edgy, so I pulled back a bit.

   "What's that?"

   "You're lucky." She smiled.  "And I'm lucky.  Little girls have dreams,
too.  We see dreams through a fog, but when you came out of the fog, I knew
it was going to be you." She pulled me against her and rolled onto her
back. "It's not a 'two-way street'.  It's not '50-50'.  It's Stoney meeting
Jo and Jo meeting Stoney and in the process realizing that life would never
be complete for either of them without the other."

   "Are you always this serious before mating?" I asked.

   Giggle.  "Not always.  Just sometimes." She hauled me in for a kiss. 
Our lips met.  I felt wonderful moist warmth down below as the center of my
being moved to a bit of turgid flesh.  We merged, my penetration eliciting
a long sigh from her, then a wiggle and a happy giggle.  "That's perfect.
Just perfect!"

   "Good morning, princess," I said.

   "Good morning." And a kiss to complete the mating.  We lazed a bit in
the afterglow., then got up, tossed the bedding into the washer and hit the
shower together, finally ending up in the kitchen with a couple of bowls of
cereal before us, coffee abrew.

   "No episode last night, Stoney," Jo said.  "Makes a couple of weeks."

   "I know," I said.  "I woke up last night to turn over, found myself in
bed with an angel.  Such a situation staves off bad dreams."

   "More to it than that," she said.  "That night on the boat, you had
one."

   I looked at her.  She was right.

   "That wasn't the only one.  But since you talked to Harland and with
Dad, nothing ...  Maybe it's a combination of things."

   "Maybe so.  Life is different.  Better." One of the best of the
'different' parts was the face smiling at me from across the table.

   "Stoney, I'm happy that you've seen a change.  You know, though..." she
said softly.

   "It might not be entirely done," I said, "but it's certainly a huge bit
better."

   " ...  I am here for you, no matter what," she finished.

   I smiled.  "That's what you told me."

   "I am!" she said brightly.  "Like if you had this huge urge to go visit
our boat, I'd be right there with you."

   "Is that a subtle hint?"

   "It is, sir.  You're very perceptive.  It's the middle of November and
we'll soon have dreary, rainy days, but today's not one of them.  Let's go
give 'er a good cleaning and inventory, because I have some ideas for
winter excursions on a sailboat."

   "You're nuts," I said.

   "I'm a girl with a goal, guy," she retorted.

   "You've said..."

   "I have a vision.  You and me, like we've done before.  Weekend in a
little cabin on the water.  Bubbling soup.  Banjo.  Flute.  Me and you. 
All weekend.  No distractions."

   I smiled.  "You know, I used to do something like that for the solitude.
A weekend of books and music.  Now I know what I was preparing for."



   ------

   Chapter 26

   The week went by with nothing major going on to interrupt our lives.

   Waiting on Friday.  Before Johanna, I wasn't one of those people who
worshipped Fridays, but now it was not a matter of escaping FROM something,
it had become a matter of escaping with somebody, TO something.

   The weather was warm in the afternoon, cooler enough at night to be
comfortable, and a cold front was due through late Saturday.

   When I got home Friday, the weekend's provisions were stacked by the
door.  I walked in, noted her diligence, got a searing kiss that ALMOST put
an hour delay into our plans.  When I said so, she trilled a giggle.

   "Don't tempt me, buddy boy," she said.

   We loaded up and left.  Buckled in beside me, she said, "Stoney ... 
That kiss..."

   "I know," I said.  "You've turned my sexuality on, cutie.  Before you, I
could've been almost asexual."

   "I know," she said.  "I never even got a twinge until you and I kissed
the first time.  Now..."

   "Made for each other," I said.

   Smiling.  "Feels exactly like that."

   Stopped at a traffic light, I turned to look at her.  She was in her
delightful 'knocking about' mode, jeans and sweatshirt against the cool
fall air, her hair done up in a whimsical pony tail that she'd fished out
the back of a baseball cap.

   I've seen Jo both ways: formal dress for her solo concert and this. 
Both were visions.  Both stirred me in ways that no woman ever had before.

   "You're staring again, Stoney," she said.  Her smile told me what her
words didn't say.

   "It's just that what you're wearing is a good look for you."

   "I look like a frump."

   "Hardly.  Somebody else may wear that and look frumpy.  You, however,
look cute, whimsical and totally charming."

   "You, sir, are crazy." Giggle.  "And I love you this way." She has the
sweetest look when she's satisfied with herself.

   "Look, redhead," I said.  "I could be freakin' Shakespeare and I could
never come up with the words to explain the spectrum of feelings I get when
you're around.  And believe me ...  You're ALWAYS around.  In my head.  In
my heart..."

   Giggle.  "In your arms.  In your bed.  In your boat."

   "In my life."

   "In my life," she repeated.  "Mom was right.  This is how it's supposed
to be.  Wise woman, my mother.  Says some people never get here.  Some
people take years to get here.  And some people," she said, patting my arm
as I drove, "know what is meant to be before either party knows what's
happening." She lay back in the seat, putting her feet on the dash.  Yes,
she's flexible, more than me, now that I have that extra metal.

   "You just had a dark thought, Stoney."

   "I just reminded myself why I'm not as flexible as you."

   "I know the answer to that one, guy."

   I raised an eyebrow, questioning.

   She smiled.  "I'm female.  Pelvic geometry's different."

   "Oh."

   "And you gave a lot of yourself saving others.  Both good reasons." Her
smile vanished into thin air, replaced by the 'you know I'm right and I
love you' look.  "So we're gonna stay tied up to the dock?  Or see how far
out we can get before it's too dark?"

   In our meager plans for the weekend, we'd discussed both options.  I'd
worried about getting out of the office late on Friday.  I'd gotten dragged
in on the tail of a project gone wrong and the big guys were scrambling to
fix it.  I thought we had running room to recovery, but when the big boys
panic, well, we don't punch a timeclock.  I knew Jo and I would be on the
boat this evening.  I just wasn't sure exactly when.

   "We're early enough.  We'll anchor out."

   Little squeal.  "Naked in the moonlight.  At least until we get
goosebumps."

   "Johanna Solheim Jackson," I said, "I got goosebumps the first time your
fingers touched mine."

   Giggle.  "Not the same as 'naked in the moonlight in November'
goosebumps."

   "One of these days we're gonna be soooo caught," I said.

   "You need to mate with me in a forest glen and in a moonlit meadow, you
remember."

   "Yes I do.  Bluebonnets happen in the springtime."

   "Oh, yes," she said.  "Beautiful.  And that way we not only go to jail
for public indecency but we add a count of debasing the state flower."

   "I'm thinking red hair, eyes that match the flowers, except they cry a
little when they see what YOU do to that shade of blue..."

   She bit my shoulder.

   "Owwww," I blurted.  "You're gonna make me wreck.  What was that for?"

   "Because every now and then you say something like that, and I just
wanna eat you up." Her smile broadened as she thought about what she'd just
said.  "And I think I will.  Tonight.  Under the stars."

   I chuckled.  "I thought I'd know when I died."

   "Died?"

   "Yeah, I must've died and gone to heaven."

   "You know, you're not the only one to feel like that, dear," she said.
"It's so easy to love you, Stoney." She reached for the stereo controls. 
"I'm loving these Bach flute sonatas, too, you know.  They stir me.  But
not the places YOU stir me."

   "And we don't have to give up anything to have each other AND Bach," I
said.

   "And Mozart.  And Beethoven and a whole book full of others," she said.
"But I like these Bach pieces.  I could arrange them for just TWO
instruments," she said.

   I caught the implications.  I was going to learn more music.  Plusses?
Yeah, there are some.  I LIKE the music and Jo's selections stretch me far
beyond where I ever thought I'd be when I first started playing with a
banjo.  Second, it's like this.  I'm sitting there with my banjo, making
music and I sit facing Johanna, a concert-level player who can't play her
flute without her eyes flashing and a smile on her lips.  It was truly an
unexpected direction, a very pleasant bit of serendipity.

   "So what will it be this time?"

   "Harpsichord.  We'll dig up some sheet music.  You can do with it what
you did with Mozart, just move it into your range and adapt Baroque to
banjo." She giggled.  "And I'm telling Doctor Bob."

   "He's gonna think you're nuts."

   "No he won't.  He thinks that I'm experimental, exploring the classical
music idiom in the context of non-traditional instrumentation.  He thinks
YOU'RE nuts."

   "He said that?"

   "He said you had no idea what you were getting into," she laughed.  "I
told him you knew more than he gives you credit for knowing.  He says
you're still nuts, and he's happy for the both of us.  And you oughtta
think about doing a concert with me."

   "I'm just an engineer who happens to plunk on a banjo..."

   "At a level that seems to impress a guy with a doctorate in music."

   "He's just using me to get to you."

   "He gets me already.  I'm his student.  Now he's using me to get to
you."

   "I think we oughtta go play in the park and put a cup out.  We can make
enough to buy a few hamburgers."

   Giggle.  "I'll do it if YOU do it.  Next weekend."

   "It's a deal!"

   We kept chatting, laughing together until we pulled into the marina,
then we lugged things onto the boat.

   "Too late to see Gary," I said, "but here come the geese."

   "Got 'em covered," she laughed, waving a bag of popcorn.  I think the
geese now associate red hair with a generous feeding.  She fed them on the
bank of the slip while I stowed the gear, then she joined me aboard.

   "I wanna take her out by myself, Stoney."

   "Okay," I said.  "You want me to handle the lines?"

   "Yeah.  I'll take it easy.  I can do this.  Plenty of room."

   She knew how to steer and how to operate the engine and in the confines
of our slip, there's no way that the little diesel was going to build up
enough speed to hurt anything.  Further, I didn't see Jo as one who'd go
catatonic if things got a bit crossways.  I singled up the dockline while
we gave the little engine a bit of time to warm up.

   "Ready when you are, cap'n," I said.  I was holding the end of the last
dockline.

   "Easing forward," she said.  I felt the little quiver as the
transmission shifted into gear.  Engine at idle, the boat slowly eased
forward out of the slip.  She started her turn into the channel gently.  I
was more familiar with the handling of the boat and I could have been a bit
more aggressive in the maneuver.  I was happy with her restraint.  Too many
people attack a task like they've seen it done before them, not realizing
that a practiced hand makes things look easier than they really are.

   I stowed the docklines and made my way to the cockpit.  She was smiling.
"Didn't hit anything.  Took it slow."

   "You did good."

   "I need to master this thing, Stoney, since she's ours and we're
spending so much time with her."

   "I'm glad you look at it that way," I said.  I wanted Jo to learn, for
several reasons.  Accidents do happen, and if I was incapacitated, Jo
needed to be able to take control of the boat.  That's a good reason. 
Sailing is fun.  That's another good reason.  It's something we can share.
A third good reason.  There was a big smile on that freckled face as she
eased the throttle forward.  That smile.  All the reason in the world.  I
sat beside her.

   "You want 'er back now?" she asked.

   "Not unless you're tired of steering."

   "Oh, noooo," she said.  "I like it."

   "Then help yourself.  I'm gonna pull the sail cover."

   "I got this," she said.  "Be careful."

   I busied myself with that little task, ending up with the sail cover
rolled and stowed and me sitting beside a pretty redhead who was doing a
quite competent job of keeping us on our side of the channel.  Soon we were
easing along in the bay, threading our way between the markers that showed
the deeper channel cut into the shallow bottom of the wide bay.

   She looked at the display of our GPS.  A marker showed our goal for the
evening.  She looked at the wind indicator.  "I think that if we go a
little further out in the channel than you did last time, we can swing
south in the deeper water and put ourselves on a little bit shy of
close-hauled and sail right to where we need to be with no tacking.  Close
reach, you know."

   "You've been paying attention."

   She looked at me.  "Dad's Norwegian.  I'm half Viking.  Sailing is
imprinted in my ancestral memory." Grin.  "And I pay attention." Giggle. 
"The Irish side, that means that after a long sailing trip, I expect to be
molested and enslaved."

   "Point taken.  I shall do my best." I twisted to kiss her.  As we
kissed, I toyed with that red, bouncy ponytail.

   "You like that, don't you," she said.

   "Yes I do," I replied.  "Way past that 'It's cute and convenient' point.
Something in the way I'm wired, I guess."

   "You're like a kitten chasing a laser dot," she said.  "I'll leave it in
tonight, if you like..."

   "I'm afraid it might be an overload," I said.

   "I'll take it out when we get ready to go to sleep," she said.  "I can't
sleep with it."

   I smiled.  Yes, I liked the way Jo looked, just like this, along with
every other way I'd ever seen Jo.  Or imagined Jo.  "You're seventeen kinds
of alluring," I said.

   She faked a sniffle.  "Only seventeen?"

   "I can't count any higher than that when I start thinking along those
lines," I said.  "I lose the blood supply to my brain."

   "You'll be positively catatonic this summer, then," she said.  "I have
this bikini ...  And I think the top is going to be hard to keep on." She
looked at the shoreline in the distance.  "Or the bottom.  So what do you
think?  Sunshine.  Nude.  Ponytail."

   "My heart just skipped a beat."

   Giggle.  "I love it when I get to you."

   "You've been getting to me ever since I saw you smile that first time in
the practice hall."

   "Stoppit!  Or I'm gonna swing out the channel right now and drop the
anchor and have my way with you!" Her eyes were so alive with laughter that
I was under a spell.

   "What makes you think that's a bad idea?" I said.

   "Because anchoring further out gets away from traffic.  'Naked in the
moonlight', remember?"

   "Like I'm gonna forget that," I said.

   "If you do, I'll remind you," she replied.  She looked at the wind
indicator.  "We could be sailing on this heading."

   "Yes we can.  Wanna?"

   "Hoist the mains'l, sailing master," she said.

   "Aye-aye, cap'n.  Mind your helm." I attended to hoisting the sail, the
fabric snapping under the force of the wind.  At full hoist, I hauled the
mainsheet in and observed the set.  Jo put the engine in neutral and then
shut it down.  The mechanical noise was replaced by the whistle of the wind
and the splashing chuckle of our wake under sail.

   "That's it, Stoney!  That's like going into the orchestra practice hall
and hearing all the clanking and jostling and tuning, and then the
conductor raises his baton and you hit that first measure, that first
chord. And harmony is present in the universe."

   "I married a poet, you know."

   She kissed me when I sat beside her.  "No.  When Dad used to take me
sailing, it wasn't like this.  It was fun, sure, but it wasn't like THIS.
You and me, together it's a bigger, brighter, more beautiful world.  The
birds sing sweeter, the sky is bluer, and this..." And she kissed me again.

   The moment was a wonderful kiss that caused her attention to stray from
maintaining course, a fact announced loudly by the luffing of the sail.

   "Oops!" She squealed.  "Sir, do NOT distract the helmsman!"

   "That, Cap'n, is an archaic rule that does not account for the fact that
the helmsman has a red ponytail."

   She switched to a 'Scarlett O'Hara' accent.  "Sir!  I do believe you're
tryin' to turn mah head!"

   Okay.  I can do this.  I changed into Rhett Butler.  "Yes ma'am.  If so
lovely a head might indeed be turned."

   Her giggles pealed across the waves, dancing in my ears like the light
from the setting sun danced from the waves to my eyes.

   "We're so silly." Smile.  "And so in love."

   "Yes we are, little dove," I said.

   We reached a point where a ninety degree course change would put us at
our anchorage and she made the turn and I trimmed the sail to the new wind.
An hour later we dropped anchor and I hoisted the anchor lamp in the waning
light.

   It was even more quiet now, just the whistle of wind against the mast
and hull and the waves slapping.  Jo noted it.  "Listen!"

   "Nothing but wind and wave." Well not exactly, but the sounds of
civilization were way down in the ambient noise.

   "Open the valve on the propane and let's make dinner," she said.  She
went below as I followed orders, then joined her.  We packed for easy meal
prep on the boat, so the menu was one-pot simple.  Okay, one pot and a
griddle for the grilled cheese sandwiches.  The temperature dropped when
the sun went down and the air started cooling.  I lit the cabin heater to
keep things from getting too chilly after we finished cooking.

   Meal finished, we pulled out the musical instruments and spent a mad
hour and half laughing, making music that was as much a part of Stoney and
Jo's love-making as was the physical touching.  We alternated between some
folksy little ditties and an increasingly artistic dive into Mozart's
Concerto for Flute and Harp, then she whipped out the sheet music for some
Bach flute pieces.

   "You, sir, are getting comfortable with sight-reading."

   "I am no master, dearest.  You made me learn things that no banjo player
EVER has the need to learn." I spoke the truth.  My days of idly plunking
out rolls and chords to music in my head, with occasional forays into
structure where an engineer's mind meshes with a musician's heart, those
were over.  Well not exactly over, but certainly only a part of what
happened when I sat down with a banjo in my lap and Johanna with her flute
beside me.

   "It works, honey," she said.  "There's enough of the original Bach score
in your interpretation so that somebody says 'Hey, that boy's playin' Bach
on a banjo!' and it backs up my flute part quite well."

   "You're deafened by love, little one."

   "Am not.  When it comes to music, I get quite objective, thank you!"

   "That's good," I retorted, "because I am easily swayed by physical
beauty and musical prowess."

   Her eyes danced and she shook her head.  "Don't forget little short red
ponytails."

   "No, little short red ponytails don't sway me.  They obliterate my
cognitive processes entirely."

   "You mean all that stuff we do, that's just instinct?" she giggled.

   "Something like a mix of instinct and lust and just enough thought
process left to recognize the pleasure."

   "That works," she smiled, glancing at the porthole above my head.  "Not
quite dark enough yet.  Let's do that first Bach piece again."

   Okay, in that one I get the first few measures to myself.  It's fun
trying to bridge from 18th century harpsichord to 21st century banjo.  I
bravely give it a try, then the flute goes to her lips and angels stop
singing in heaven because, by gosh, Johanna Solheim Jackson is playing her
flute.  I back off on the volume of my playing to provide the background
for the real artist in this family.

   Dammit!  She's comfortable enough with her playing to look at me,
catching me with my brow knit in concentration.  Her smile.  Translates to
sound.  Beauty.

   "Pretty good," she says.  "Can you get just a little closer to the
original in that arpeggio passage?  You're doing a roll, and I think that
you can work the actual arpeggio in there.  I've seen you do it."

   "I'll try," I said.  I played the passage with an Earl Scruggs rolling
style, then backed up and tried the arpeggio.

   "You're cute when you have to concentrate," she smiled.

   "You get me out of my comfort zone."

   "You stick your tongue out when you're really concentrating.  I noticed
that when you were learning the Mozart piece.  And when you finally started
getting it, getting comfortable, you put your tongue back in your mouth."

   "Mom and Dad used to tell me that.  I try not to do it, but sometimes I
get really deep into a problem..."

   Her smile morphed into something else.  "Ah, I do have a problem you
need to get deep into..."

   "It's dark enough.  Let me see if any lights're out there."

   "Check," she said, smiling, as she stowed her flute in its case.

   I switched the cabin overhead lighting to red, helping my night vision,
then I kissed her.  Finally I started up the ladder and opened the hatch
into the cockpit.  Stepping topside, I scanned the bay.  NO light were
anywhere to be seen on the water, except for a couple of huge tankers
leaving in the ship channel a couple of miles distant.

   "We're clear, sweetness."

   What stepped out into the cockpit with me was something moonlight is
made for, pale white skin, almost glowing.  All of it.  Nude from head to
toe.  Irish-Norwegian genes almost glowing.

   "You don't need those clothes," she said.

   In a minute I was as nude as she was, and not nearly as much the vision.
Not to me.

   Arms from a vision wrapped around me, pulling me close.  The warmth of
her body was a delightful contrast to the chill of the autumn night.  The
accompanying kiss took my breath away.  "You're a vision in the moonlight,
sweet Johanna," I said.

   "You are too, warrior poet musician engineer," she replied.  Her hands
softly kneaded the muscles on my back.  I wasn't a body-builder, but a
couple or three nights a week, every week, at the gym and a little
attention to diet and leisure pursuits kept me from getting fat.  Feeling
Jo's hands exploring, assessing, I was glad I'd taken care of myself.

   The blanket I'd brought up with me went onto the cockpit seat.  Cold
fiberglass wasn't in the cards for tonight.  I sat, drawing her willing,
lithe form towards me.  She splayed her legs, one on either side of me,
facing me, settling into my lap, pushing something hot and slick against my
erection.  A few kisses and she raised up and mated us with a sigh.

   "Tomorrow.  Right here.  In the daylight," she said.

   "Yesssss," I hissed in response to her wiggling.  "God, yes..."

   "Just like this, Stoney.  Skyclad."

   "Completely nude," I said, understanding the term.

   Another wiggle and a sigh.  "And it'll have to be fast because I will
burn under the direct sunlight."

   "We can do that.  But..."

   "But I guarantee I will come.  And so will you." Her lips fastened to
mine as she began moving in earnest.

   Just good sex.  REALLY good sex.  Sex like I'd never experienced nor
imagined before and my loving, mobile, enthusiastic partner was telling me
that she wanted more of it tomorrow, and tonight was not even over.

   We chugged to almost simultaneous orgasms and clung to one another.  Jo
tilted her head back, surveying a sky full of stars, something impossible
to see in the city.

   "Stoney, have you paid attention to the stars out in the Gulf?"

   "Yes I have, angel," I said.  "God throws another bucket of 'em up there
if you're out offshore."

   "We need to do that.  Can we?"

   "We can indeed.  We can get out far enough to get away from most of the
lights except a few offshore platforms, and I have enough anchor rode to
drop the hook in a couple hundred feet of water.  We just need to pay
attention to the maritime weather reports."

   "Light seas," she said.  "Two to three feet.  Rock us to sleep And more
stars.  And if we do it in the springtime, when the weather warms up, nude
all night.  Sleep in the cockpit." Giggle.  "Make it earn a whole new
meaning to the name." She wiggled.  "You're still in me and you're getting
hard again."

   "I definitely am.  Are you too cold yet?"

   "Not right now.  Slow.  Let's just go slow.  It feels so good like
this."

   There's something primal.  I don't know.  Maybe it's somewhere in
ancestral memory or the hive-mind or whatever, but there's something about
mating under the stars like this.  We kissed.  Our arms were as tight
around each other as tightly as they could be.  Jo's legs wrapped me.  No
words were being said, but it was like our very skin was transmitting
energy between us.

   I wasn't too surprised when Jo said softly, "Stoney, it's like we're
talking to each other.  Just wrapped up together."

   There was no point in telling her my thoughts.  I'm pretty sure she
already knew them.



   ------

   Chapter 27

   Johanna's turn:

   Almost magical, waking up in the morning on the boat.  Not sure exactly
what time it is, reminding myself that it really doesn't matter, feeling
the form of this MAN touching me, rolling to face him, snuggling in against
him.  The boat is rocking gently and there's the wind and the waves and the
sound of our breathing.

   I know my guy is drifting along because he hugs me closer and resumes
his even breathing.  I know several things that would be very pleasant for
both of us, but I choose to slide back into slumber with him.

   Okay, I've got a mind running a thousand miles a minute right now. 
Johanna Elise is married.  I'm supposed to be the rational girl.  Woman. 
Twenty-one.  A matter of months from graduation from college with a
business degree and a music degree and...

   Two months ago I thought that if all else failed, I could just pull the
ripcord and parachute back into Mom and Dad's lives, and they'd be
disappointed but understanding, the job market being what it is, but they
love me and they'd accept that.

   Instead, I'm now Johanna Elise Solheim Jackson.

   We've talked, Mister Jackson and I, about careers and finances.  "You
just go ahead and be a charming college student for the time being.  I know
people that raise whole families on what I'm making.  I'm pretty sure that
we won't be in a bind."

   "I am not worried about staving off starvation, dear," I said.

   "Then what is it you wish to do?"

   "Use my degree.  Administer a business."

   "The whole thing?"

   "If it was a little business.  But no, I'd be happy with a staff
position."

   "What about your music?"

   "The symphony says they will have me on the list.  That's not a career,
though."

   "Then you just figure out what it is you wish to do, then we will try to
set it up so you can do it."

   "I'd like to think that I'm able to do this on my own, Stoney."

   "Oh, okay...  'I am Woman, hear me roar..."

   "Beast!" I squealed, punching his arm.  "It's NOT that."

   "Then what is it?"

   "Several things, guy.  I want to prove that I can be a functional member
of society."

   "I've heard you play.  You contribute more to society with one concerto
than some lower-tier functionary does with a decade of checking 'Form B' in
some admin office."

   "But flute-players don't make enough to keep a house."

   "I can provide that function, sweetie," he said.  I know he means it. 
He's old-school.  A provider.  Like Dad.  Problem is, I'm a woman, like
Mom. It's one thing to be loved and to love and trust in return.  It's
quite another to be helpless.

   "I'm not going to be helpless, baby,"

   "I don't think you're helpless, Jo.  I'm just saying that you don't have
to fret over when and where you go to work."

   In my early morning reverie, I feel a stirring, then a major move as the
love of my life rolls over and wraps me in his arms, spooning up against
me. I suspect that he's mostly awake right now because his face seeks to
nestle into the hair on the back of my head.

   A soft "Mmmmmm" near my ear confirms my suspicion.  It's worth a little
wiggle of my heinie to see what I can work up.  I wiggle gently, slowly,
like I'm settling into a comfortable chair.

   I get a wiggle in return and the hand at the end of the arm that's
cuddling me, that hand gently cups my breast.  And a little kiss touched
the back of my head.

   "G'mornin', sweet Jo," he says softly.

   I twist around to face him, planting a kiss on his lips.  "G'morning, my
love." I didn't let him harbor the idea of morning breath.  I wanted his.
We kissed.  Pulled apart.  Smiled.  Made happy noises.  Kissed again.  Then
I kissed his nose.  "Let's do something for breakfast.  And I need to hit
the head."

   "Me too.  But I can go over the side."

   "You're naked and it's cold out there."

   "I'll scan to see if there's anybody around and I'm gonna be right
back."

   Yes, my husband is nude.  And Yes, I watched his naked butt walk to the
ladder going topside.  He opened the hatch, took a step up, and then
finished going topside as I backed into the head.  Marine toilets.  Pull
this.  Pump that.  Turn this other thing.  I envied Stoney his quick whiz
over the side.

   When I heard the hatch close, I bent forward to see Stoney.  Yes, I DO
look.  I'm supposed to find him attractive, and in fact I find him
arousing. I finished cycling the head and stood up.

   "You're staring."

   "Not staring," I giggled.  "Appreciating.  And if I'm not supposed to
get annoyed when you look at me, then you shouldn't be annoyed when I look
at you."

   "Well, if you walk around like that, I'll never get breakfast done."

   "And if you cook breakfast like that, you're liable to splash something
hot on something tender.  Get dressed."

   We both donned jeans and shirts.  I didn't bother with a bra.  It's not
totally necessary for support with my breast size, and if Stoney got a
little too much nipplage, we both were okay with it.

   Breakfast was oatmeal with dried fruit, a couple of eggs with some
bacon. Orange juice.  And water was on the stove boiling for coffee
afterward.  I cracked a porthole to let some of the humidity out of the
cabin.  As we sat at the dinette, eating, little wisps of the outside chill
touched my face.

   "You're smiling," he said.

   "Of course I am.  Breakfast.  You.  Our boat.  Solitude."

   "You're into the 'solitude' thing, aren't you, baby?" he said.

   "Not to an extreme.  It's just something that I appreciate, probably a
lot more than a lot of other people.  Key used to worry about me staying
home so many evenings.  Now, I ...  You and I, that's technically not
solitude.  I just get every bit of you to myself."

   "Whatever isn't minding the boat."

   "We can both mind the boat.  Just like we can both mind the apartment.
Doesn't take much time.  I'm spreading my honeymoon out over WEEKS and
there are times that I desire you all to myself."

   "You have decades of that ahead of you, redhead," he said.

   I collected the breakfast dishes, all of which went into the trash. 
Overnighters, we stayed with disposable things.  Only had to wash a few
pots.  I poured the simmering water over the coffee in the French press.

   "Stoney, I've been keeping something from you."

   He looked almost frightened.

   "No," I said, "nothing bad."

   "Then what?"

   "All that talking about working.  Whether or not I have to work because
you can make enough to support us?"

   "Yeah?"

   "Neither of us has to work after I graduate."

   "Neither of us.  How's that?"

   "Great uncle, Dad's uncle, is the major stockholder of Solheim Limited."

   "Like the 'Solheim Limited' that has its name all over the North Sea?"

   "You know of them?"

   "Yes.  Actually was a sub-contractor on something that ties to them. 
Anybody working around the oil business knows the name."

   "And you didn't make the connection?"

   "I figured Solheims in Norway were like Jacksons here.  All over the
place."

   "You're kind of right.  But there's a trust fund.  Mine turns over to me
when I graduate."

   "How much?"

   "Don't know exactly, but substantial."

   What about your mom and dad?"

   "Dad couldn't stop working if you held a gun to his head.  He's not in
it for the money."

   "And his beautiful daughter keeps a secret very well."

   "I didn't want ...  I wanted it to be about Stoney and Jo, working
class. Not about Johanna Solheim, trust fund baby."

   He looked almost hurt.  "Johanna Solheim, angel from heaven.  Johanna
Solheim, Norwegian-Irish forest nymph.  Johanna Solheim, siren.  Johanna
Solheim, horrible punster and brilliant musician."

   "Johanna Solheim JACKSON, wife of engineer warrior poet.  That's what I
wanted it to be, Stoney.  About us.  And the conversations..."

   "In which you played me like a fish..." he said, eyes stern.

   "I wanted us to be able to stand on our own.  You and me.  Ourselves. 
Our place."

   "But you knew that you didn't need me."

   I got kind of ruffled at that 'you didn't need me' comment.  "For
exactly ONE thing, Randall Jackson.  ONE THING.  I don't need the stinkin'
money.  WE don't need the money.  You, sir, I need for everything else." I
drew a breath.  "You're supposed to be happy at this news."

   "Sorry.  I'm digesting it."

   "Don't let it upset you.  You got that little lump you just put in the
bank from that media system.  That got us quite comfortable.  I just..."

   "You just took us from comfortable to..."

   "To anywhere you want to be with me."

   "Make no mistake, little girl..." he started, his face serious.  I was
frightened.  He continued, "I married you.  Money had nothing to do with it
before, and it doesn't have anything to do with it now.  I love you.  I
swore that to you under the full moon and again in front of friends and
family before God."

   "Oh, Stoney..." I said.  And I wrapped him up, showering him with
kisses.

   "Any other secrets?  Like you're heiress to the throne of Ireland or
something?"

   "Nothing.  I've already told you how much I love you.  Come sit down."

   "I'm going to sit down, how come you're pushing me to the berth?"

   I giggled.  "Lounge, Stoney.  Relax.  Let's have that conversation
again."

   "What conversation?"

   "The one about me getting a job and you working and stuff like that."

   He smiled.  Maybe it was starting to sink in.

   "How's your engineering cred, Stoney?  I mean, if I graduated and
stomped my foot and said 'long vacation', could you do a leave of absence?
Or resign and get another job later?" It was fun watching his face as he
parsed that statement.

   "Johanna," he said, "I thought I was marrying you and we'd have a happy
little home and we'd have our careers and friends and families.  Just like
everybody else."

   "Is this bad?"

   "No.  Different.  I'm supposed to be the successful provider."

   "And you are, Stoney.  Until June the first of next year.  Then we meet
with an attorney and ...  you'll still be the successful provider.  We'll
just have a really nice nest egg." I leaned back against him.  I knew he
wasn't going to remain sitting for long.  I was right.  He lay back and I
climbed on top of him, my face inches from his.  Those blue eyes.  Yeah,
the scar.  It doesn't tan like the rest of him.  But he's ...  just
handsome.  I kissed HIS nose, because he does that to me and I love it.

   "I'm glad I waited until we were on the boat to tell you," I said.

   "Why?"

   "So you couldn't storm off."

   "Why would I storm off?"

   "I've heard that some guys can't handle their wives having the money."

   "I ...  you don't have THE money.  We both could do quite well without
Great-uncle Lars' fortune.  If that disappeared tomorrow we'd still have a
marvelous life ahead of us.  I was quite happy to think that I had a
lifetime of your beauty and your music and your conversation ahead of me,
even with both of us working.  Or me working and you staying home with our
offspring."

   Yes, we've had the 'offspring' conversation, to the delight of my
mother. "Mom, of course we've discussed it."

   "Tell me that I'm going to have a grandchild."

   "Or two."

   Mom has this squeal.  Dad says she passed it on to me.  I got to hear it
again.  "Mom, Stoney and I want to have one or two.  We're in a good
position..." Yes, Mom knows about the trust fund.

   "You're certainly in better position than your dad and I when you showed
up." When I was born, Dad was a captain, I was born in an Army hospital,
lived in a housing area, paycheck to paycheck, until one day his father
informed him of an interesting letter from his brother.  "So, when?"

   "Like you and dad, we'd like to have a year or two to ourselves.  Then,
sky's the limit."

   Another happy mom squeal.  "You will have beautiful children, Jo. 
Beautiful children."

   "Mom, I only hope that they think of me and Stoney the way I think of
you and Dad."

   You shouldn't make your mom cry over the phone.

    -"

   "So what.  We just relax.  Uncle Lars said that his great-niece should
graduate.  I will graduate.  I will play my flute until I graduate and then
I will look for places to play, and some of them will beside my Stoney.  We
need to go to the park on a pretty day and put your banjo case on the
ground and play.  But I will find a chamber orchestra or whatever, where
ever we are, and I will play..."

   "Because I adore your playing."

   I smiled.  " And if you want to find a place to be an engineer, you find
a place.  If you want to manage a business, manage a business.  Whatever.
Jo 'n' Stoney..."

   "Does anybody else know?  Key?"

   "Heavens, no, Stoney.  I'm part of the thundering herd.  Scholarship
kid, as far as she knows."

   "Oh."

   "I didn't want to make things sound strange.  I could've had my own
apartment.  That was always an option.  But hanging with Key was a good
move, I think.  She's a hoot."

   "Yes she is," I said.  "I like being Jo's white boy."

   "Jo, there's one thing," he said.

   "Yes, my Stoney?"

   "Remember the night of our wedding, after the incident, when you went up
one side of me and down the other because I hadn't told you that I carried
a pistol?  And YOU said to me, if I remember correctly, 'no secrets'?"

   I gasped.  "Yes, I remember." I cast my eyes downward.

   "Don't you think this is something that fits in the 'no secrets'
clause?"

   I looked up.  "I'm sorry.  Forgive me?" I looked into his eyes.  I knew
the answer before he spoke.

   "We just need to be open with each other, dear," he said.  "Of course I
forgive you for that one.  Are there any others?  Like you were once named
Stanley?"

   "If I used to be 'Stanley', they did a really good job.  You haven't
commented on any scars."

   "You're making this sound ridiculous, Jo.  I'm serious here."

   "Exactly how serious are you?" I stepped close to him.  Our noses almost
touched.  "Stoney, I love you.  Richer or poorer, for better or worse, et
cetera..."

   He kissed back.  We're gonna be okay.

   "I wasn't raised as a spoilt little rich girl, Stoney.  Dad and Mom just
aren't that way.  They could be sitting at a chalet in the Rockies or a
condo overlooking the seashore, but they're not.  Not gonna say never, but
Dad likes working and Mom likes being there with him.  And I'm not any
different."

   "I adore you, Johanna, even when you were just a poor college student."

   "Good.  Are we?  Good, I mean?"

   "Yes, dear." He smiled and hauled me atop him as he lay back.

   I giggled.

   "What's so funny?"

   "We have to make it on our own until June.  Can we do that?"

   "Yes.  Nothing's changed.  There's nothing I need that I don't have in
my arms right now."

   Since we were dressed, we pulled up the anchor and moved south in the
bay to a location less likely to see another boat on this autumn day.  We
had a lunch of sandwiches and gave the sun time to warm the air up a bit
more because I had a goal to accomplish.

   We anchored.  I disappeared below and came back up the ladder completely
nude.

   "You're serious!"

   "Of course I'm serious!  Get with the program!"

   He looked around.  "Nobody that I can see." He started shedding clothes.
I went below and retrieved a couple of towels to keep sticky stuff from
happening to the cockpit cushions because I intended for there to be sticky
stuff.

   When I returned topside, Stoney was as naked as I was.  The air was
crisp, so we weren't going to be here long like this, but I saw the
erection jutting up from his crotch and I knew that I had everything that I
needed.  I was juicing up dramatically at just the idea.

   A little while later I was still sitting with my legs on either side of
him, my arms wrapped around his neck, his arms around my waist, holding me
as our breathing returned to normal.  I had my head on his shoulder, facing
him, his neck within reach for a gentle kiss, which I took.

   "You ...  Johanna..."

   I'm glad of that.  I've heard from girls who said that sex just wasn't
worth the bother, and I knew of girls who thought it to be wonderful.  I
find myself in the second group.  That's good.  But it's even better when I
know that my mate is equally moved.

   "You're trying to talk, Stoney.  You don't need to, you know."

   He just sighed and his hands roamed down from my waist and he cups my
butt.  "Perfect.  You're perfect."

   I smiled, moved a bit to kiss him on the lips.  "Thank you.  Your blood
supply still hasn't returned to your brain."

   "When it does, THAT'LL think you're perfect, too."

   "You're silly and wonderful and you make me smile." I wiggled, feeling a
soft plop in my nether regions as he slipped out of me.  "And you fill me
UP!"

   "You make me crazy, little one."

   The far-off sound of a powerboat assaulted our ears.  It sounded like it
was getting closer.

   "I guess we need to get presentable," Stoney said.

   "I guess.  Or we can move this exercise below.  I'm still relaxed." I
stood up.  Stretched.  He stood and embraced me.

   "We'd better do something, little one, before we both get sunburnt in
some inconvenient places."

   He followed me below.

   Late afternoon we both emerged, fully clothed, and honestly, I think my
knees were weak.  Stoney weighed anchor and we sailed to another anchorage
two hours away.  The wind had switched around to the south and the clouds
were low and nasty-looking, but sailing is sailing and the sounds of the
wind and the water were still a delight.  It's even better when you're
seated on the leeward side of the cockpit, your feet braced against the
pedestal, snuggled next to your mate.

   I won't bore you with the details of yet another evening except to tell
you that neither Stoney nor I were bored.  We motored back into our slip on
Sunday afternoon with me at the helm.  I'm not quite as smooth as Stoney
is, but it's been his boat for years, mine for a month.

   We waited for the geese to show up.  They did on these autumn days
because activity was low.  They came to where the noise was, us, and I
think they know that I'm good for a bag of popcorn and some dry dog food.
They don't let any of that go to waste.

   They're funny.  They have such serious expressions.  I commented to
Stoney.

   "A goose has to work very hard to move his lips to smile."

   "Goose lips," I said.  "Imagine having all those feelings and not being
able to smile."

   "Listen to 'em," he said.  "They're talking 'happy goose' right now. 
Makes up for not smiling, I guess.  Hard to get into the mind of a goose."

   I laughed.  "I'm glad we don't have goose lips, baby."

   "Me too," he replied.  "Your smile had me from the beginning."

   We made pretty short work of moving things between the boat and the car,
spent a bit of time talking with Gary, then got on the road home.  Late
afternoon, we made ourselves busy putting a load of laundry on.  He did
that while I started my daily practice session.  He works faster when he
hears me playing, and then he comes in and sits there while I practice.  I
ran through my routines while he read.  Every now and then, I'd hit
something that resonated with him, the book would flop down and his eyes
would close.

   Finally I stopped.  "Get your lute, Stoney."

   "Banjo."

   "Lute." And he pulled the banjo off the wall hanger.

   "Third Movement, harp entry," I said.  "One, two, three..." Stoney's
getting good.  He's right there.  I put my flute to my lips and join him.
We finish that and he switches over to a sprightly 6/8 banjo roll and I hit
him with an Irish jig.  His foot can't help but tap along with the music.

   When practice ended we hit the shower and then went to bed.  The last
thing I remember was having enough energy to hit the button to provide
soothing music for us to enjoy as we caressed one another into slumber.

   Monday morning.  I could have stayed in bed.  My first class is at nine.
But Stoney's up at six-thirty, he does this quick dash through the shower,
and I had breakfast on the table and the coffee brewing when he comes into
the kitchen, dressed for work.

   I give him a kiss as he's going out the door.

   This gives me a little quiet time after I clear the breakfast table.  I
was sitting on the recliner, Stoney's chair.  I like sitting in it.  It
smells of him.  No, not any kind of sweaty stink, just hints of his
aftershave and the cologne I bought him.  I can twist sideways with my
laptop and do a bit of classwork.

   That's what I was doing when my cellphone rang.  It surprised me.  I
have a ring for Mom and Dad, and one for Key, and obviously I have a
special ring for Stoney.  This wasn't any of those.  I swiped the screen
and held it to my ear.  "This is Jo.  Can I help you?"

   "Are you Johanna Jackson?" the voice asked.

   "Yes I am," I said.  I normally revel in the sound of somebody else
saying that.  But this time, there was no hint of joy.

   "Your husband is Randall Jackson?"

   "Yes, ma'am," I said.

   "We need you to come to the downtown community hospital.  Your husband's
been in an accident."

   "OmiGOD!" I said.  "Is he..."

   "He's been in an accident.  He will be okay.  But we would like to have
you here, please."

   "I'm on the way."

   "Emergency room entrance.  Tell them who you are.  They will let you in
to see him."



   ------

   Chapter 28

   Stoney's turn:

   Aside from the idea of leaving Jo behind, I was not feeling bad when I
left for work.  After all, I had her kiss still tingling on my lips when I
got in my car.  A push of the button and I had the classical music station
on the stereo.  Oh, yeah, I have the iPod plugged in, too, but I liked
giving the radio station a shot at titillating my ears on the way to work.
This technique insured that my tastes received some variety.

   I hated the commute.  Traffic is aggravation.  After a couple of years
of exploration, though, I had a route that I determined to be the lowest
amount of aggravation possible for a despised trek.  So here I am, visage
of my beautiful, smiling Johanna in my head, strains of Brahms in my ears,
driving a route I drove several times every week.

   I knew there was a series of traffic lights, but if I hit the first one,
then I'd generally make the rest because they were coordinated.  Like I
said, I knew the route, right down to recognizing several cars and drivers
whom I'd seen on the trip, day after day, week after week.  That was a key
to the normal ease of the path, I'm sure, that like me, many of the drivers
were into the routine.

   I had three lights to go before my destination.  I saw it switch from
red to green when I was half a block from it.  Perfect timing.  As I got
closer, I noted that traffic on the cross street was stopped.  Good!  I was
safe from light runners.  I proceeded into the intersection, not giving a
thought that anything was out of the norm.

   I woke up in an ambulance, strapped to a backboard in a horrible example
of deja vu.  The electronic siren was making horrible noises.  That's new.
Medevac helicopters don't have sirens.

   A medic, EMT, paramedic, I don't know what to call them or what they
call themselves, was bent over me.  We called all medics 'Doc' in the army.

   "Can you hear me?" the EMT said.

   "Yeah ...  wha?"

   "You got T-boned pretty bad.  You'll be in the trauma center in a couple
more minutes."

   I winced in pain as some muscle or another tried a random movement.  I
gasped.  Got it under control.  "How bad?"

   "Can't say.  You got hit on the driver's side.  We got you out of a mess
of airbags.  There's blood.  Let the doctors see what's wrong."

   "Cellphone," I said.  "Call my wife."

   "When we get you in the ER," he said.  "Lay still.  You'll just hurt if
you move."

   "I'm hurting and I ain't moving."

   "Dude," he said, "You're gonna be okay.  Nobody who makes jokes like
that ever died on me."

   I gritted my teeth.  Though it wasn't a good time to laugh, I hiccuped a
chuckle.  Side hurt.  Oh, shit!  I recognize THAT pain.  At least I could
still see out of both eyes.

   I was ceremoniously deposited onto a table in the trauma center and had
a day's worth of good clothes cut off me.  Somebody with a clipboard showed
up along with real medical people.  "Can he talk?"

   "I can talk," I said.  I noted the look.  Turned my head.  Do you know
that turning your head moves muscles in your back and chest?  It does.  I
winced.  "Wallet has ID.  Insurance card.  Cellphone has ICE 1 & 2.  One is
my wife ...  please..."

   "We will," she said.

   "Mister Jackson," a nurse said, "we're gonna knock you out.  The next
part is gonna hurt..."

   "Yeah," I said.  "This part's been an absolute riot."

   "Wait," the doctor said.  "These old scars..."

   "I'm pinned in the leg, femur, tibia and fibula.  Arm, humerus.  Got
some bits of shrapnel."

   "That rules out the MRI," he said.  "Allergies?"

   "RPG's make me break out," I said.

   The doctor smiled.  "Put im out.  He's polluting the place."

   "Uh, good night, folks..."

   Consciousness came in stages.  I thought I felt a soft touch.  Drifted
off.  Fingers on my face.  Drifted off.  Uh-oh ...  like an angel. 
Definitely an angel.  You've done it, boy.  You're dead.  No, wait, this is
prettier than an angel.  Everybody knows angels are blonde.  This one's
awfully redheaded and concerned-looking.

   "Jo..."

   "Stoney, what have you done?"

   "I love you, Johanna Elise."

   "You're bumped up pretty bad."

   "Hello, Mister Jackson," a nurse said.  "You're back with us?"

   "Either that or you have the Number Two role in a dream."

   "Gee, Stoney," Jo giggled.  To the nurse she said, "Yes, he's back."

   "I'll see when the doctor's free to talk with you," she said.  "Do you
need anything?"

   "My skateboard..."

   "Stoney!" Jo squealed.  She turned to the nurse.  "He's crippled.  I'll
beat him for you later."

   The nurse pulled the privacy curtain closed as she left.  Jo bent over
and kissed me.  "Oh, gosh, Stoney..."

   "Sorry to throw a scare at you, baby," I said.

   "Oh, gosh, Stoney..."

   "I'll be okay..."

   "Yes, you'll be okay, Mister Jackson.  I'm Doctor Timmons." To Jo he
said, "And you're his wife?"

   "Yes, Doctor," Jo said.  "What's going on with him?"

   "Well, first, you got bag burn.  Airbags are rather violent, but the
burn's a lot better than you bouncing around the inside of your car.  Your
side airbag tried, but it didn't stop the guy that hit you.  You get a
rebuild of previous work, it appears.  I'm not the guy who'll do that.  In
the morning you get an orthopedic surgeon."

   "That bad?" I asked.  Jo's face was serious.  Smile was missing.

   "You took an impact, apparently a bit ahead of your pelvis, because
that's not broken.  The impact displaced the hardware from your previous
incident.  Your breaks are both at the termini of your pins."

   "But I'll walk again, right?"

   "You were walking before.  You'll walk again.  You're probably familiar
with the physical therapy and rehab part from last time."

   "I'll do all that again?"

   "I'm not the expert, but I think probably not as much.  You don't have
the muscle damage that those scars show me from the first time.  Your ortho
guy will know better.  We're gonna put you in a room tonight."

   "Okay.  Thanks, Doc," I said.

   "Thank you, sir.  'Preciate your service."

   "Service?"

   "Yeah.  You don't get that kind of hardware and those scars
skateboarding," he said.

   "You heard that?"

   "MY ER.  I get to listen."

   Jo followed as they wheeled me on a long trek to my room.  I noted the
plastic bag she carried.

   "Your wallet.  Your cellphone.  Your shoes.  They told me the rest
wasn't worth saving."

   "Can you call the office?  Ask for Bob Wilson.  Tell him what's going
on."

   "I'll do that."

   The floor nurse came in and did her thing, verifying my IV installation,
noting the last time I'd been dosed with Demerol.  "How's your pain?"

   "Pretty stout right now.  The stuff they gave me earlier's thinning
out."

   "It must be," Jo said.  "He stopped being funny."

   "I'll be back with his next dose in about twenty minutes," the nurse
said as she left.

   "Jo, you don't have to stay..."

   "Don't you start with me, Randall Jackson," she said.  "After you get
your next dose of Demerol, I'm going home and put things in order and then
I will be back up here.  You are my husband and there will be no nights by
yourself."

   "Okay, sweetie.  What about school?"

   "I will be okay.  I'll call Key and tell her what's up.  I will email my
professors.  We can get through this."

   "Look," I said, "I can manage while you're in class.  Don't jeopardize
your classes."

   "We'll see how long this goes on, baby.  I'll get you some help if you
have to stay home." She touched my face lovingly.  "Can I get close enough
for a kiss?"

   "Yes, please," I said.

   She bent over and our lips met.  Then she kissed my face.  "You had me
worried."

   "I had me worried, too, baby.  I love you, you know."

   The nurse showed up, syringe in hand.  I felt the liquid fire enter my
vein and then I started drifting.  I felt a gentle kiss and heard, "I'll be
back, baby."

   I let myself drift off.  When I awoke, Jo was sitting there with one of
her textbooks and her MacBook.

   "Hey, babydoll," I said.

   "Hi, guy." She smiled for me.  "How are you feeling?"

   "Not too hot today, princess," I said.  "How're you?"

   "I started my morning just perfectly happy, then I got this phone call,"
she said.  "I talked to Bill.  He's gonna come by just as soon as you can
stand him."

   "Tell 'im December of next year works just fine."

   "Oh, you're BACK!" she giggled.  "He said don't worry about work. 
They'll take care of things for you.  And I talked to Key.  You know that
aside from the orchestra, our classes don't match up."

   "Yeah, I know."

   "You like Key, don't you?  I mean, you can stand her around you?"

   "Key's a hoot.  Why?"

   "Key said you're, and I quote her words, her favorite white boy and she
would be glad to stay up here with you while I'm in class.  That way my
grades don't take too big a dive."

   "Key.  Okay.  Tell 'er I' look forward to seeing her.  What's Hutch say
about that?"

   "I asked the same question.  She said she will see that Hutch finds it a
sane thing to do.  It's not like you're gonna spend the night in 'er bed,
you know.  I'll be here every evening when class is over.  She's just
filling in the gaps so I can get to class."

   "Oughtta be a real hoot," I said.

   "And you don't have to worry.  I talked with one of the nurses.  They
say they'll have a home health nurse come by while you're recuperating."

   "I've heard of that," I told her.  "Insurance oughtta cover most of it."

   "We can cover it," she said.  "And the other driver should have
insurance, anyway.  The ward clerk said that the police called asking about
your status.  They want to talk to you."

   "I would imagine so." I winced.  Right leg was uncomfortable.  When you
move your right leg, your left leg wants to help out.  That hurts.

   "What's wrong?" Jo asked.

   "I moved my right leg.  Hurts my left."

   "What can I do?"

   "Can you just stuff that extra pillow under the right knee.  I need to
change the pressure points just a little bit."

   She performed that task, her mouth a straight line as I sucked my breath
in a couple of times.  "Like that?"

   "Yeah, great, honey."

   "I'm sorry I hurt you."

   "Can't be avoided.  It's gonna be fun for a while."

   "I'm sorry, Stoney.  You've been through this before.  With your leg, I
mean."

   "I still have both arms this time.  And I would like to attempt a hug
with them."

   "I don't want to hurt you, baby."

   "Let's try.  I need my Johanna."

   I could see how carefully she tried sitting on the edge of the bed.  She
leaned over and I put my arms around her.  Through the smells of antiseptic
I could get tendrils of delicate perfume.  My Jo.  I could connect with the
blue eyes, the delicate ears, the pert nose.  And the red lips softly
brushed mine.

   "Mmmmm," she said.  "Stoney, I never want to do without you."

   "You got me, baby.  For better or worse.  And we're having a wild ride,
you and me, but I'm yours."

   There was a knock on the door and the floor nurse peered in.  "Are you
okay, Mister Jackson?"

   "All things considered, yes," I said.

   "Be careful sitting on his bed, Mizz Jackson," the nurse said.  "You
know the rules."

   "I know," Jo said.  "But he MADE me..."

   "Uh-huh.  Mister Jackson, how's your pain?"

   "About a five right now."

   "Good," the nurse returned.  "I'll give you another dose in an hour if
you can wait."

   "I'm good."

   "Be careful with 'im, Mizz Jackson," the nurse said as she left.  I
noted that she pulled the door shut behind her.

   "Could I get another kiss?" Jo asked.

   "Please, yes."

   I was wakened early the next morning, not that I slept all night,
anyway. Between nurses making their rounds and the twinges of pain every
time my unconscious body made a move, I drifted in and out.  And nothing by
mouth after midnight.

   The light came on at 0630.  Jo was immediately at my side as two guys in
scrubs rolled a gurney into the room.

   "We're bringing you to surgery," one said.  To Jo he said, "You can go
down with him if you want.  The waiting room's right next to recovery."

   We made a little parade as we navigated the halls.  When we got to the
surgical suite, we stopped.

   The surgical nurse turned to Jo.  "We gotta take 'im now and prep 'im."

   Jo bent over and kissed me lightly.  "See you in a bit, my guy."

   "We'll take good care of 'im," the other guy said.

   Oh, yeah, there was the part where the orthopedic surgeon explained what
he was going to do.  "But from your X-rays I guess you've been through it
before."

   "Yeah," I said.  "With extra shrapnel."

   Honestly, I don't remember as much of the first time.  This time, the
staff was a bit older, but the care was equally professional.  I went to
sleep to "Count backward from a hundred." I got to ninety-six.

   I woke up in stages again, and there was Jo.  We sat in the recovery
room for a while before the doctor came in.

   "Textbook, Mister Jackson," he said.  "I don't get to redo these things,
but you're pretty healthy and pretty young and I think you'll get back to
at least where you were before yesterday.  Maybe a little better."

   "What're my limits?" I asked.

   "Oh, you're not going to walk for a few weeks, then you're going to do
the physical therapy and rehab."

   "Just like last time."

   "No," Jo said.  "Last time you didn't have me."

   "Last time you were, like, eleven," I said.

   "Mizz Jackson, you're gonna be incentive, I'd imagine," the doctor
smiled.  "Look, you're gonna do a couple more nights here.  I'm writing
prescriptions for home health and you're gonna need a trapeze on your bed
and a wheelchair."

   "And lots of sympathy." Key's voice.  "Hi, Jo's white boy!"

   "Hello, my favorite minority," I replied.

   "Oh, you still groggy.  Jo, I'm early."

   "I know, but we're so glad you showed up at all."

   "Look, girl," Key said.  "It's what friends do.  You go to class.  I'll
take care of 'im for you."

   "Stoney," Jo said.  "You sure you don't mind?"

   "Heavens no," I said.  "Go do your thing.  Be stunning!"

   She bent over and kissed me.  "I love you, Stoney."

   "I adore you, Johanna," I replied.

   Y'all stop dat," Key laughed.  "Or I'll need a room here.  You upsettin'
my stomach."

   "Jealousy is a horrible thing, Key," Jo said over her shoulder as she
left.

   Key giggled.  "She left the curtain open."

   "Yeah, you never know.  I might have designs on you."

   "Look at you.  You crippled.  Got tubes stickin' out of you all over."

   "Oh, so I'm no longer attractive since I've lost my aura of physical
perfection?"

   She giggled again.  "You too pale.  We'd look like a Oreo."

   "Just so you thought about it," I laughed.

   "You be good, you," she laughed.

   I was returned to the surgery ward, to the same room that I'd occupied
earlier.  Same nurse, too, still there from the morning shift.  She greeted
me, scanned my chart, eyeballed Key.

   "What happened to your wife?" the ward nurse asked.

   "She has classes.  I'm their best friend," Key said.  "So I'm here to
take care of 'im."

   I sort of dozed off for a bit, came back to consciousness and saw Key
with a book.  "Hey, Key," I said.

   "Hey yourself, Stoney.  You have a good nap?"

   "Sometimes I can see how somebody might like this drug stuff," I said.

   "Don't be that way," Key said.  "If you don't know people, I do."

   "Oh, don't worry, kiddo," I said.  "There's too much beauty in the world
to miss.  Your redheaded friend.  Music.  The sunset over the bay. 
Bluebonnets in the spring."

   "Jo's right.  You do lapse into imagery."

   "Don't know about that," I said, "but when I'm hurting that nurse brings
nirvana in a syringe."

   "I wouldn't know," Key said.  "AIn't never been in your position."

   "It's not to be recommended, little one," I said.

   She giggled.  "You called ME 'little one'.  I thought that was reserved
for Jo."

   "No, but she gets first shot.  It's just a friendly name.  And you're
what, five-four?"

   "Yeah."

   "Little."

   She laughed.  "I told Jo that you were a good guy.  It's like she lit up
when you two started hangin' around.  I was so worried you'd turn out to be
some dog..."

   "She's a breath of fresh air."

   "More than that." Key smiled.  "I don't know if you've thought about
what it's like finding a good roomie for college."

   "I had my own problems in the dorm," I said.

   "In the dorm, all you have to deal with is the personalities. 
Off-campus, it's that AND money.  Like is the other party gonna come up
with their share on time."

   "Yeah, you're right," I said.

   "Never had a problem.  Mom 'n' Dad paid mine.  Jo's folks paid hers. 
And she never leeched off of me, you know, on food an' drinks and stuff."

   "She's acted pretty responsible since we've been married," I said.  "I
trust 'er.  Since before we married."

   The nurse knocked on the door and entered.  "Mister Jackson, I got your
shot."

   "Thank you.  You're my favorite pusher," I said.

   "Ain't never heard that one before," she replied saucily.  "It's gonna
make you drowsy."

   "That's okay.  Key can go back to studying."

   Key smiled.  "And his wife will be back in an hour or so."

   I did indeed doze off.  I awoke to a kiss and naturally assumed that
when my eyes opened it would be Jo.  I was right.

   "Hello, baby."

   "Hi, princess," I said.

   "Hi, Stoney," Key said.

   "You're still here?"

   "Yeah, wanted to wait until Jo got here.  Had a big fight over who got
to wake Prince Charming with a kiss." She chuckled.  "Almost got my butt
whipped by a white girl.  I just wanted to make sure you were okay before I
left."

   "Go meet Hutch," Jo said.

   "He'll appreciate me," she laughed.

   "I appreciate you.  You gonna be here tomorrow?"

   "You bet, white boy," she laughed.

   Dinner came.  Hospital food.  Jo's nose wrinkled.  "Tomorrow I will see
that you are better fed, baby."

   I ate mine.  She went to the cafeteria while I dozed and was back for
the night.  I slept fitfully.  Same reason.  Demerol.  Doze.  Move.  Wake
up.  Repeat.  I woke up early in the morning when the nurse made her
rounds. It was time.  I had an urgent need to use a bedpan.

   "Let's get my next Demerol first, though."

   "You got it, Mister Jackson."

   That ordeal out of the way, I got dressings changed and Jo dashed out
for something for herself and brought me back some snacks to supplement
that hospital breakfast.

   At nine she answered my cellphone.  "Oh, hi, Mister Bob," she said. 
"Yes, he's conscious.  And on drugs.  Probably a good time to talk to him
don't you think?" She snickered.  "Here he is." And she handed me the
phone.

   "Mornin', Bob," I said.

   "Mornin', Stoney," Bob said.  "How are you?"

   "Pretty good except they had to redo the pins in my left leg."

   "How's Jo handling it?"

   "You just heard 'er.  She's a trooper."

   "Good, son," he said.  "You got a good girl there.  How long you gonna
be in the hospital?"

   "At least until tomorrow."

   "News is out.  You may get visitors."

   "Anybody that cares enough to visit, I care enough to see," I said.

   "I might make a pass up there."

   "Bring chocolate.  For Jo."

   He laughed.  "Got it.  You have any idea how long before you can get
back into the office?"

   "That depends on the doctor, but if you don't mind me on crutches..."

   "I'll have to ask HR and Safety about that.  Not that I'm pushing."

   "Look, Bob, If we get too deep into that Central America project, I can
do email, phone..."

   "Let's see what your doctor and HR say."

   "Okay.  When I get to where I can sit up, I can telecommute."

   "Hah!  Now that's a thought."

   "Yeah, and the drugs oughtta make me especially innovative on that
Guatemalan power grid."

   "Sounds like you're feeling feisty," Bob said.

   "The power of modern pharmaceuticals."

   "Yeah, okay.  Take care of yourself, Stoney.  And tell Jo to take care
of you."

   "Bob says take care of me," I told Jo.

   "Got it covered, Bob," she said.

   "Bye, Stoney."

   Next on the agenda was the appearance of a police officer.

   "I'm Patrolman Gary Watson," he said.  "Are you up to a bit of
conversation?"

   "Hello, Gary.  Do I need a lawyer?"

   "He's joking," Jo said.  "Some people don't see it."

   Gary smiled.  "I'm not in a position to tell you why you might need a
lawyer.  Seven witnesses say that you had a clean green light.  The guy
that hit you was in a hurry.  Passed in a 'no-passing' zone, ran a red
light, hit you."

   "Open and shut?"

   "As far as you being at fault is concerned.  That's about as much good
news as you get."

   "I'm lying in a hospital bed with new pins in my leg.  What's the BAD
news?"

   "The guy who hit you says his name is Rudolfo Jimenz.  You know that
thing about illegal aliens?"

   "I see where this is going."

   "Yep.  Senor Jimenez is not licensed, not a citizen, the car he was
driving is not his and is not insured, and I'm thinking that if you took
everything of his that we might be able to grab, you'd have a total of four
hundred dollars."

   Jo's hand on my forehead soothed me.  That limited my comment to a
simple "Shit!"

   "I hate to bear the bad news, Mister Jackson.  And just eyeballing it at
the scene, your car's totaled.  If it's any consolation, so's Senor
Jimenez's."

   "It's Stoney.  I won't need a car for a few weeks.  By then we can sort
that out."

   "How's your insurance?"

   "Good stuff," I said.

   "Small consolation, again," Gary said.  "Anyway, the witnesses said you
had a green light, were not speeding, and Jimenez whipped out of the line
of traffic and T-boned you.  That gonna work for your statement?"

   "Yep.  Can't add anything to that," I said.

   "Okay, then," Gary replied.  "You can get an official report in a couple
of days, for your insurance.  Man, I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news,
Stoney."

   "Not a lot of choice, is it, Gary," I replied.  "Isn't there anything
you guys can do about that sort of thing?"

   "Stoney, laws are made for people like me and you.  We have something to
lose.  Guys like that?  What're we gonna do?  Like I said, he and two guys
living in an apartment with ratty used furniture that you couldn't sell for
four hundred bucks.  Arrest him?  The courts are already overloaded.  And
if we don't put 'im in jail and we start tightening the screws, he just
leaves and goes back to Mexico.  It's a screwed up mess."

   "Well, thanks for what you've done, Gary.  I appreciate it." I extended
a hand to shake his before he left.

   After he was gone, Jo touched my cheek.  "Well that's just peachy, isn't
it?"

   Jo's turn

   "Aggravating.  Very aggravating," Stoney said.  "Not the way I thought
that would turn out."

   "Nothing we can do about it," I said.  "We'll be okay.  Just need get
you walking again.  That's first priority."

   "We'll get there," he said.

   I could see the grogginess tugging at him.

   "You're getting groggy, baby," I said.  "Take a nap.  I have things I
can do." I kissed him lightly.  Saw him smile.  I retired to the chair and
opened up my MacBook.  Schoolwork.

   Tried.  Mind's not in that book right now.  Stoney's over there.  My
Stoney.  And our life is changing.



   ------

   Chapter 29

   Johanna's turn:

   I brought my Stoney home.  My poor, broken, battered Stoney.  Well,
actually, a medical transport brought him home and ceremoniously deposited
him in bed.

   The bed is a rental hospital bed, at least for the time being.  I have
home health technicians setting up trapezes.  One over this bed.  One over
our bed.  One over Stoney's favorite recliner.

   He's got crutches.  "But do NOT try using them for a week," the doctor
said.  "And not while under the influence, either.  I just finished caring
for a patient who had a horrible accident trying to get around on crutches
while in a state of inebriation."

   "Got it," Stoney said.  "Act like a responsible adult."

   "I'll watch 'im," I said.

   "I have you set up for a home health visit daily for a couple of weeks,"
the doctor continued.

   So now we're home.  Stoney's in bed.  Without me.  "Here we are," I
said.

   "Not what I had in mind," he said.  He smiled at me.  "Is there a way
you can squeeze next to me on this thing?"

   "I'm afraid I'll hurt you."

   "Baby," he said, "it's been days.  I'm willing to risk it."

   I started to climb into bed.

   "Do you really need all those clothes?"

   "The home health nurse is supposed to be here any time now.  Can you
hold that thought?"

   "Leave your clothes on and get over here."

   I giggled.  "My Stoney." I gingerly positioned myself next to him, lying
on my side, his right arm pulling me against him.

   "I missed you next to me, Johanna."

   "Stoney, I missed you too.  I wasn't ready to do without you, buddy."

   "Nor I, little one." He brushed my hair and nudged me toward him for a
kiss.  We'd kissed in the hospital.  This was better.  We were home. 
Mentally, I guess I unloaded because the sound of the doorbell woke me up.
I carefully got out of bed and let the home health nurse in.

   She met Stoney, did her initial assessment, talked with us, and left. 
It's time to figure out how to make this new life work.  Stoney's drifting
along on a wave of painkillers because of all the stress of moving, but
when I check in on him, his eyelids flutter, then open.

   "Hey, little one.  That's the last time I take those things like that. I
can get by on a lot less."

   "We didn't want you hurting for the move, baby," I said.

   "I know," he replied.  "And I appreciate it.  But I'm not getting stuck
on this crap.  Didn't the last time.  Ain't gonna do it now."

   "Don't let yourself hurt too much, guy," I told him.  "Too much pain
isn't good for healing either."

   "Another kiss would help my healing tremendously," he said, forcing a
smile.  "I didn't get those the last time."

   I did that.  I fed him.  I washed him up.  And I sat beside him as I did
the flute practice I'd missed for three days, and I practiced the exercises
I needed and I played the songs my Stoney loves.

   "Tomorrow I'm sitting up with my banjo," he said.  "We play together."

   We played together a little tonight before I went to bed.  I was just in
his bed, caressing, comforting, receiving the same from his manly body next
to mine.  I was idly gliding my hand over his chest when his hand touched
my wrist, pushing my hand a little lower.

   I sort of giggled.  "I didn't want to do something that would hurt you,
baby."

   "Endorphins, princess," he said.  "You're my generator of endorphins."

   Yes, THAT works.  He was erect, that glorious hot shaft pulsed under my
touch.

   "God, that feels good!" he gasped.

   "Would ...  could you stand an orgasm?"

   "Ohgodyes!"

   "I want..." I was drawing the covers back, exposing him.  "I know what I
want.  You can stop me..." I bent my neck and slurped him into my mouth. 
One.  It's powerful having this control over my man.  Two.  I really like
the feel and taste.  Three.  As much as I miss having Stoney inside my
pussy, this is very, very good.

   He didn't stop me.  That tiny thought I'd harbored that just maybe the
painkillers would also kill his sexual responses, that disappeared as he
got harder, started pulsing, and then released into my mouth.  Oh, yes! 
THAT still works.  So do I, as I languish in his arms and he gently fingers
me to my own orgasm.

   For the week he's not supposed to be crutching around, between me and
the home-health nurse and Key, we covered Stoney pretty well.  Key asked
about THAT part of our relationship.

   Giggle.  "We manage.  It's too good NOT to," I said.  Key says she looks
at him differently after that conversation.

   "Just remember that it would KILL your grandma to find out that you'd
died messing with a white boy," I said.

   She laughed.  "IF he wasn't YOUR white boy, I just might be swayed. 
We'd have these exotic-looking mocha-colored kids..."

   It's funny, but my Stoney has that effect on me.  And Key brought her
oboe.  Practice.  Make Stoney happy.  She and Hutch showed up one evening,
bearing gifts.  Supper.  From a local Thai place.  Hutch and Stoney talked
a bit of work and Key and I talked a bit of school and orchestra and after
dinner Key and I and Stoney played a bit.

   "I'm trying to do a whole orchestra's work, backing you two up," she
said.  "Y'all really have this piece goin' your way." The piece was that
Mozart flute and harp concerto.

   Weekend came.  How I missed the freedom to go to the boat.  "Next
weekend we need to go check on 'er," he said.

   "I called Gary and told him when you got in the wreck," I said.  "He's
keeping an eye on 'er.  But yes, next weekend."

   And Monday is our fun/practice day.  We used to go to the apartment once
shared by me and Key.  Not this time.  Everybody showed up at our
apartment. Stoney clumped on crutches and settled into his chair, accepted
the requisite amount of sympathetic commentary, and we started practicing.

   And the doorbell rang.  I answered it.  Mrs.  Hlinka from next door. 
Seventy-ish.  Retired.

   "I'm sorry if we're too loud," I said.  "We'll dial it back."

   "Oh, no, dear," Mrs.  Hlinka said.  "Can we come in and listen?"

   I had to smile.  "Sure!  We'd be privileged to have you!"

   "Let me go get Georgi," she said.  "And tell him that I'm not being
rude, please."

   So I introduced Georg and Betta to my friends.  "The Hlinka's.  Our
neighbors.  Betta and Georg, these are some of our orchestra.  Remember,
this is practice.  Please don't think poorly of us."

   Got us put on the "when I bake cookies, you'll get some" list from Mrs.
Hlinka.

   "Could I, please," Georg asked Key.  "It's been so many years since..."

   Key smiled.  Produced a fresh reed and handed her oboe to Georg.  His
eyes lit up as he put the reed to his lips.  The tone wasn't Key's clean,
practiced, sound, and the fingering was fits and starts.  "Thank you," he
said.  "So many years ago, in university at Prague," he said.

   Doing some math in her head, "Prague Spring?" Key asked gently.

   He and Betta both nodded.  "Yes.  We strove for freedom.  Failed.  Here
in America, a new life, but no time for music.  And when I hear Jackson and
his lovely wife, I wish.  Tonight I hear oboe, and I send Betta to ask,"
Georg said.

   Dad told me about meeting people who'd lived the history we only read
about.  I made a mental note to invite Georg and Betta over again.

   "Mister Georg," I said.  "This last one is something that Stoney..."

   "Stoney?" he asked.

   "My husband is Randall Jackson.  In the Army they named him 'Stonewall'
after the famous Confederate general.  He's always been 'Stoney' to me."

   "Ah," Georg said.  "That, I know about."

   "He wanted me to play Mozart's flute and harp concerto, but we couldn't
find a harpist, so he plays the part on his banjo.  I hope you like it."

   They liked it.  Mizz Betta is a retired nurse.  Checks in on Stoney now.

   "I didn't know their story," Stoney said.  "Just a nice old couple with
a funny accent that sort of kept to themselves."

   "You never know," I said.  "There's a lot of central European heritage
in Texas," I said.

   "I know," Stoney replied.  "But generations old.  I knew their accent
was too fresh for them to be native.  But one doesn't pry."

   "Unless one plays music that brings an old man's memories back alive."

   Something else is alive, too.  "Baby, if we're very careful, do you
think we could try it?" I didn't think I was being selfish.  I was thinking
that we need each other.

   He smiled.  "Jo, I want to try it."

   Yes we can.  Gloriously.  An act that I once thought I'd never care
about, it's now a desire across the spectrum of my being, and I straddled
Stoney and satisfied both of us.  Satisfied?  It's a form of worship. 
Adulation.  And ever so quiveringly, wetly satisfying.

   "Stoney, are you sure that didn't hurt?"

   Soft laughter.  "Killed me.  I felt my life force leaving my body. 
Guess where it went."

   "Like I was riding a fountain," I replied.

   I gave him a pain-killer before we tried going to sleep.  He was
drifting off while I pondered that, yes, Jo and Stoney can get past this.
Piece of cake.

   So I come home from class and he's in the kitchen, propped up on a
crutch, and Key's on the sofa talking with Mizz Hlinka.

   "He ran us out," Key said.  "Said you have deprived him of red beans and
rice and he was intent on rectifying that situation."

   "Stoney, you're perfectly capable of talking somebody through that."

   "I know," he said, "but I get tired of letting others do things for me.
Besides, I've been listening to Key and Mizz Betta."

   "Where's Mister Georg?" I asked.

   "Nap time," Mizz Betta said.  "He does so enjoy them now.  Was such an
active young man in his youth.  Our youth.  Much like your Stoney," she
said.

   Okay, I smile, you know, because he's MY Stoney and it makes me happy
when others say good things about him.  I notice Key grinning, too.

   "What?"

   "I gave my old oboe to Mister Georg to play with.  He can keep it as
long as he wants."

   "You made him young again, dear Key," Mizz Betta said.  "He was so alive
at twenty-two, in university, studying, music was something he loved."

   "Music is something we all love, Mizz Betta.  I'm glad a little thing
like that will bring such joy."

   Life has a way of moving onward.  We can't stop it.  There's no sense in
raging against it.  So Saturday morning I held the door open on my little
SUV and let him back into the passenger seat and we drove to the marina. 
Got greeted by Gary, and since I had the requisite bags of popcorn and cat
food, the geese.

   "Man, good to see you getting around," Gary said.

   "Glad I got Jo," Stoney said.  "This would've been tough for a single
guy."

   "Oh, you're adding friends by the day," I said.  "Let's see if you can
get on the boat."

   "Lemme help," Gary said.

   "Lemme try by myself," countered Stoney.

   I and Gary pulled the docklines to make sure the boat didn't shift away
and Stoney backed up to the cockpit coaming, swivelled, and was in.  He was
grinning.  I unlocked the hatch and went below to check the bilge. 
Nothing. Nice, tight little boat.

   "Are y'all going out?" Gary asked.

   "No, not this time," Stoney said.  "It's our boat.  We just wanted to
check on 'er.  Maybe next week, if the weather's good." It was nippy today.

   I cranked the little diesel and watched the gages for normal operation.

   "Let it get to temperature," Stoney advised.  "Bring my banjo."

   I emerged from below with a banjo in one hand, stretched to give it to
him, then hauled up my high school flute.  "Concert," I said to Gary.  With
two-goose accompaniment.  We played for a little while, letting the engine
run, charging the battery.

   Finally, I shut the engine down and secured it, stowed our instruments,
and thanked Gary for his help and his company.

   "Marina's slow this time of year," he said.  "And you two are
entertainment, not trouble."

   "Glad you think so, Gary," Stoney said.  And we loaded up and went home.

   "Next weekend..." I started.

   "Let's watch the forecast.  I won't be much help with this leg, baby,"
he said.

   "I think that we CAN.  I just want to make sure you know that I want to,
that is, if you want to."

   "What I want to do," he smiled, "is punish you for teasing me with that
ponytail." Oh, yes, my Stoney has a fetish, and it involves anything I do
with my hair.  And he's getting more mobile, and better yet, he's not in
pain when I get a bit more mobile.

   "I will accept my punishment," I laughed.  "I need to get you home."

   "Yes you do," He laughed.  "You're crazy, you know..."

   "A psychopath," I countered.

   "Yes, a torturer of cripples."

   "How so, sir?" I giggled.

   "Blue eyes.  Red hair.  That ridiculous ponytail."

   "All very common traits.  That you find them torture is your problem,
not mine," I laughed.  "By the way," I started, "did I already tell you
that Doctor Bob wants to know how we're coming on the harp concerto?"

   "No-oooo," he said.  "You specifically DIDN'T tell me that."

   "He did.  Wants to come over for our Monday practice.  I told him he
needed to judge for himself."

   "Key's idea..." he started.

   "Without the overalls and straw hat.  Like for the concert at the end of
the semester."

   "Baby," he said, "you're the concert musician in this equation."

   "Stoney, he's heard us.  Our friends have heard us.  YOU have heard us.
We're good together."

   "In every possible way, Princess," he battled.  "But when it comes to
music, I listen better than I play."

   "Don't you think," I said softly, "that a PhD should be able to judge
such things?"

   "You keep arguing and I keep saying 'no'."

   "You don't sound nearly as convincing as the first time." I watch.  I
pay attention.  And this is MY guy.  I'm supposed to know.

   He tried another tack.  "I won't be out of this leg business."

   "You're the banjo guy.  You play sitting down."

   "But I can't walk without crutches."

   "So we'll have you wheeled out."

   "You've thought about this already."

   "Of course.  You married me for my mind, right?"

   "And the neat package it comes in."

   Okay, I get to be a little coarse.  "You've been coming in this package
pretty regularly, sir."

   "Ooooooo, a bit of innuendo..."

   "Exactly.  In my end.  Oh."

   He laughed.  "You're gonna get everything you deserve."

   I squealed.  "I certainly hope so!"

   His hand touched the back of my neck.  He knows just how to brush back
there and I quiver.

   "Stoppit!  I'm tryin' to drive!"

   "And I feel bad about that," Stoney said.  "I don't like being a
cripple."

   "Not much we can do to change things," I said.  "Just takes time." I
patted his thigh.  "We'll do just fine."

   And we will.  I love the guy.

   He called a Chinese place that wasn't too far from home and we did a
drive-through for dinner.  Saturday evening at home.  Good movie playing.
Me and Stoney.  And I thought I could hear the strains of an oboe through
the walls.  I give Stoney a sponge bath, a giggly task now.

   "A week, and you get out of that stupid cast and we can get you into the
shower."

   "The doctor says maybe.  If things are going well.  Believe me, little
one.  I'm anxious too."

   I believe him.  We will be back to where we were pre-accident.  Or even
better.  I'm growing.  I've grown up as a social creature, a family
creature.  Mom and Dad included me.  When I moved off to college, I found
out where my desires for solitude were, and where my desires for
companionship were.  I learned to live with a room mate.  These last three
semesters have been good.  Key turns out to be a very sane and compatible
creature.  And now I'm married and I'm finding out that in addition to the
'we both live in the same space' thing that I learned with Key, I've added
'and we love and merge and mate' thing with Stoney.

   This wreck sort of toned down the unbridled collisions that mark our
pairing.  Made me sit down and do a brief pity party thing where I looked
at 'me-me-my-mine' and saw that I was whining like a spoilt five year old
and it was time to put on my big girl pants and be a wife.  Like Mom had to
do.  There are many much worse ways to learn.  Told Stoney.

   "You had an epiphany, baby.  I've had 'em.  You're rocking along and
something comes up in life and you start handling it and you look back and
say 'Wow!  So that's what that lesson was about!'"

   I smiled.  Stoney has that almost scary way of voicing what's in my
mind.

   So here we are.  Here I am.  Taking care of my husband because he's MY
husband and my responsibility and it's my turn to step up.

   "You're watching," I said.

   "You're smiling," he retorted.

   "I'm just taking care of things, baby."

   "Yes you are, little Jo.  Very capably."

   "What am I supposed to do?  I mean, you and I, we always share this
stuff, but right now you can't."

   "Just my Jo being exactly what I dreamed of."

   "You dreamed of a maid to clean your dinner dishes?" I giggled.

   "That too," he laughed.  "I dared to dream of a partner, not a princess.
Although you do that princess thing quite well."

   I find myself quite confident at those little impromptu social things
where I stand beside my husband in the presence of friends, whether I know
them or not.  I don't get treated like a trophy or a fashion accessory. 
Stoney doesn't act like I have to be coddled or protected.  He just lets us
be together and acts like it's supposed to be this way.  It is.

   I know ...  I sound like a pubescent girl-child writing her thoughts in
her diary.  I know because I did that.  But you know, there's a reason that
such excursions of thought back then are bearing fruit now.

   I saw my red-headed mom on the arm of my dress uniform-clad Army officer
dad, looking, if you didn't look too hard, like a princess on the arm of
her prince, and I decided back then that if you strip some of the fairy
tale trappings off the story, that leaves you with a realistic expectation
of life.

   Of course, when Stoney was of the age where he was wearing a dress
uniform, I WAS a pubescent girl-child.

   "Come sit and tell me what thoughts grace that beautiful mind," he said.

   "Arrange yourself on the sofa so I have a place," I said.

   He hauled himself up out of his recliner, using that trapeze, took a
crutch to prop himself up for the two steps to the sofa, and he eased back
down onto the sofa, letting his left leg stay straight.

   I dried my hands on a kitchen towel, placed it on the counter and joined
him on the sofa, languishing back into his arms, just exactly as he'd
positioned himself to receive me.

   "Now, what's on your mind?"

   I told him.

   "I hate this, little bunny," he said.

   "I know you do, dear..." 'Dear'?  Oh, Johanna, you sound JUST like your
mother!  "We play the cards we're dealt." I twisted to kiss my husband.

   Monday evening was our jam session/practice, and now, we just went ahead
and invited the Hlinkas.  Mizz Betta brought cookies with an Old World
flair.

   Doctor Bob did indeed show up.  And listened.  And was fascinated by a
little conversation with Mister Hlinka about a young man at university in
Prague, long ago.

   "Mister Hlinka, you are certainly welcome to come sit and hear us
practice, and I will see that you and your wife get tickets to our
concerts."

   For Stoney, though, Doctor Bob had another conversation.  "Stoney, you
really need to think about this idea."

   "I'm not a musician, Bob," Stoney said.

   "Bullshit, Stoney.  I'm just a poor ol' Texas boy that loves music, and
you know and I know that some of the best music comes from people who
wouldn't get any closer to a college campus than to drive the truck that
empties the dumpster.  Don't you listen to your wife?"

   "But she's in love.  Prejudiced."

   "I won't comment on 'in love', but she's got a highly tuned ear and she
knows the difference between good enough to have fun and good enough to
show to people."

   Stoney looked over Doctor Bob's shoulder.  I guess I shouldn't have
smirked.

   "I don't want to be an embarrassment.  This bunch..." He motioned to the
half-dozen of us crowding our living room, "deserve better."

   "Yeah, I can imagine," Doctor Bob said.  "And if I'd gotten that girl
from Virginia on a music scholarship, you wouldn't be getting asked, but
YOU are the one that suggested Jo and that concerto, and since I don't have
a harpist, guess what."

   Stoney played his new 'cripple card'.

   "Look," Doctor Bob said, "I'll give you a wheelchair pusher all your
own." And he played his 'Johanna card'.  "And seriously, wouldn't you
really like to be on stage playing with HER?"

   "Bob, you know that you don't play fair."

   Doctor Bob smiled.  He knew he'd won.

   "Jo, bring my banjo, baby."



   ------

   Chapter 30

   Back to Stoney:

   Wasn't bad enough that I got T-boned by an illegal alien a couple of
weeks ago, but now my beloved wife has thrown me under a bus.

   Admittedly, it's a bus full of musicians.

   Doctor Bob, the conductor/instructor of the university's chamber
orchestra is complicit.  Early in the relationship with Jo, she'd intimated
to me the desire to play Mozart's Concerto for Flute and Harp, an idea I'd
mentioned to Bob.  When Jo saw that I was somewhat adept at my banjo, she
railroaded me into working on the harp part of that piece.  At first, all I
did was stay within the chord progression, but then I saw ways that I could
take Mozart's scales and arpeggios and intervals and make a banjo work.

   We were perfectly happy, playing, smiling at each other.  Then she
talked me into playing with her in front of some of the orchestra who got
together to practice at Key's apartment.

   Word got out.  Word ALWAYS gets out.

   I dodged as best I could, but between Bob and Johanna and the smiling
faces of several others, I knew it was a losing battle.  I succumbed.  On
the plus side, I actually thought I was doing pretty good.  If others
thought so, well...

   "Consistency, Stoney," Jo would say softly in our practice sessions. 
"With consistency comes precision.  And you can build, once you're
consistent.  And comfortable.  But don't be afraid to stretch."

   "You're contradicting yourself."

   "Am not," she smiled.  "I'm giving you information that appears to
contradict, but you need to balance comfort and consistency with the
willingness to stretch.  Practice until you're comfortable, then have the
discipline to force yourself out of your comfort zone."

   Well, I can 'roll' on my banjo faster than she can arpeggio on her
flute. Provides her with another 'teaching moment'.

   "See?!?  You're comfortable with that.  You used it when we started on
Mozart.  And you have moved to..."

   I broke from the rolls to arpeggios, playing up the neck on the banjo,
hitting the peak of the instrument's range.  She knew exactly where I was
and the flute touched her lips, bringing angels down from heaven.

   The next session was with the full orchestra.  I should have known
better than to think that this was a surprise to anybody, even when I
clump-thumped my way into the rehearsal hall.  Jefferson was unloading out
of his car when he saw us pull up and he hurried over to help.  "Always did
wanna be the black dude with the banjo," he laughed.

   "Banjos started out as black folks' instruments," I said.

   "Oh, I know that, and you know 'zactly what I mean, too." He grinned. 
"I told you Doctor Bob thought you were good."

   Jo was smiling.

   They had other pieces to work on as well as our concerto, so I was quite
happy to sit back and listen for a great portion of the session, a pleasant
thing.  And I had my FIRST ever run with a concert orchestra accompanying
me (and Jo.  Jo's what makes it possible) and surprisingly, it's horrible,
but not as horrible as I'd imagined.  This is a piece that Jo and I had
done a hundred times, and for at least the last third of that, we'd pretty
much settled on the cadence and the actual choice of score.

   That was me.  I moved from a place where I could do a bit more than
rudimentary scales on my banjo to where I actually knew what I was doing
and I had to fake a lot less, not having to trade as much Earl Scruggs for
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.  Jo and I and the music bunch that met off campus
had some pretty spirited discussions as we learned that there's a solid
line between a bluegrass banjo roll and a Mozart arpeggio.

   So we're on the path to what may be my first and only appearance on the
stage in a concert hall as a performer.

   Work's a bit different thing, though.

   I got visits from a few co-workers after I was home and settled in.  The
first couple of visits, Jo was there.  After asking permission, Bradley
brought his wife.

   Johanna makes a quite gracious and adept hostess.  Brad and I caught up
on the latest office events, internal politics, thing like that.

   "You're still the biggest story," he said.

   Heather, his wife, laughed, telling Jo, "See?!?  And they say women
gossip!"

   "Oh, I knowww," Jo agreed.

   The next day it was my boss, Bob Wilson.

   "January," I said.  "I should be back the first week of January.  I
could be back sooner, but I'll be on crutches."

   "I wouldn't mind," Bob said, "but between HR and legal..."

   "The same people who shot down me working from home," I said.

   "Yeah ...  It wasn't always like this, Stoney," he sighed.  "We used to
be able to act like adults and take responsibility and get things done. 
Now I can't fart without HR pointing to something in a policy manual that
I've violated some new federal regulation."

   "What about my Central America project?"

   "We've had to contract a third-party engineering firm to pick it up."

   "My project," I said.  "I wanted the lights to be on in Tegucigalpa
because of ME!"

   Jo giggled.  Bob cut his eyes at her, smirking.  "You MARRIED this guy?"

   "He's not the only prima donna in this family," she countered.

   "Well, that may be true, but you're better-lookin'," Bob said to her. 
"But I don't need a deliverable from you.  Stoney, I know you'll help us
transition these people onto the project, won't you?"

   "Sure," I said.  "Give 'em my cell number and email and all that."

   "Naturally," Bob said.

   One day, Jo was in class and I had Key there studying, waiting for Hutch
to get off work.  Brad dropped by.  Key answered the door.

   "Stoney, some big ol' white boy's here!  Wanna let 'im in?"

   I could picture Key's face when I heard it.

   "Yes, please do, Mammy," I said.  "Then lay on the fine china..."

   "Yassuh, Massa Jackson!"

   Brad turned the corner to the living room.  "WHO in the heck is THAT?"

   "That is one of my minions..."

   Key's laughter pealed.  "Now I'm a minion?"

   "Key, this is Brad.  Brad ...  Key.  My second-favorite musician."

   "Hello, Brad.  Was I too harsh?  I wasn't tryin' to be harsh?"

   "No, you're just a surprise, is all."

   "Oh, I come over to take care of my favorite white boy when Jo's got
other things to do.  Me an' Jo used to share an apartment."

   "Ooo-oh," Brad said.

   Key smirked.  "I may be the only black oboist you'll ever meet, so savor
the moment."

   Fortunately Hutch knocked on the door before we had a fight.  Oh,
seriously, no fight.  Key's got a quick wit and apparently reads character
quite well, too, because she and I and Brad were talking and laughing.  He
met Hutch, they talked a little bit, then Hutch and Key left.

   "She's something, ain't she?"

   "Oh, yeah," I said.  "A real doll.  Funny.  Smart.  Double major," I
said.  "Music and business, just like Jo."

   "Girl like that could turn your head," he said.

   "Uh-huh.  Jo and she were colluding to bring me to meet Key's family,
just to see who'd pass out," I said.

   "Or get shot."

   "Her dad is a senior management at that big insurance company, the one
in that downtown building."

   "Not your 'poor little ghetto child', then?"

   "No, and she and Hutch play that for effect sometimes.  'Bout like me
imitating an Old English accent."

   Jo showed up a bit after Key and Hutch left, brought in a tray of sushi
that she and I and Brad shared.

   A couple of days later I was clumping around the house while Jo was on
her way back from class.  My iPhone rang.  I looked.  Work.  "This is
Stoney."

   "Stoney, this is Bob.  Can you put up with business talk right now?"

   "Sure," I said.  "For free, of course..."

   "I'm sorry," Bob said.  "Really.  HR..."

   "Bob, I'm jerking your chain," I said.  "You oughtta know..."

   "But I still feel bad."

   "Don't.  What is, is."

   "Oh, anyway, I got this guy here who's going to pick up on the Central
America job.  I hate to do this all over the phone.  Would you mind if he
came over and y'all talk?"

   "No, that's fine.  Has anybody done any work since I left?"

   "No."

   "Then I have the latest files with me.  Software?"

   "He's got it," Bob said.

   "What's is name?"

   "Dan Richards.  3Sigma Engineering.  And Stoney?"

   "Yeah."

   "Don't embarrass yourself.  The redheaded girl with him is his wife, not
his daughter."

   I heard a giggle in the background.

   "I'm putting you on speaker," Bob said.

   "Okay.  I can do PG-rated.  Can you?"

   I heard two male voices laugh.  One was Bob's.  The other one said,
"Mister Jackson..."

   "Stoney," I said.  "You're Dan?"

   "Yes.  Wish we'd've met under better circumstances."

   "Me too," I said.

   "I've sort of skimmed this project with Bob.  He says you're the guy. 
Can we come visit and talk about it?"

   "Sure," I said.  "Bob's got the address.  We'll be lookin' for you."

   "We'll see you in what ...  twenty minutes?"

   "Give or take," I said.  "GPS should get you here.  Park in a slot
marked Apartment 'B'.  Should be two of 'em.  One'll have a red SUV in it."
Jo was due back soon.

   "We're on the way," Dan said.

   "See you in a bit," I said.  "Be careful."

   "'Kay!" he said.  The phone clicked, disconnecting.  In two minutes it
rang again.

   "Stoney," said Bob, "I didn't mean to put you on the spot."

   "Nah, work's gotta get done.  3Sigma?  I never heard of 'em?"

   "They're six months old.  I know two of the engineers.  You're gonna
have trouble getting better ones."

   "Ooooo-kay," I said.  If Bob said 'good', and wasn't talking about a
client, but rather another engineer, then I took his word for it.  "He
brought his wife?"

   "Oh yeah.  She's an engineering student at Auburn."

   "She ...  classes."

   "In a class by herself, buddy.  Asks questions with her husband.  Seems
to know.  You're gonna be surprised.  Just warning you.  They got me.  I
thought it was 'Take your daughter to work' day.  At least I didn't SAY
that."

   "I shall contain myself," I said.  "Thanks for the heads up."

   I heard a key in the lock.  That would be Jo.

   "What's up, love of my life?" she said, bouncing over to kiss me.

   "Gonna have company.  Work company."

   "Oh.  Bob's pushing it.  You're on disability leave."

   "And Bob knows that and so do I.  We do what we have to do, baby."

   She smirked.  "If you say so."

   "I say so."

   Kiss.  Dazzling smile.  "Then it's so.  Should I put coffee on?"

   "Let's see what they want," I said.

   "I shall be a gracious hostess," she smiled.

   Our place is not untidy, but Jo made a quick pass touching things up. 
The doorbell rang.  She peeked through the peephole, then opened it.

   Male voice.  "Is this where I can find Randall Jackson?"

   "Yes it is," Jo chirped.  "Please come in."

   A six-something, fortyish guy came into the living room with what was
apparently a refugee from a preserve for wayward pixies.

   "I'm Dan Richards," he said, shaking my offered hand.  "And this is my
wife, Cindy."

   "Hello," I said.  "I'm Stoney and you've met Jo.  Johanna.  My wife."

   "Hi, Cindy," Jo said.  "Hi, Dan.  Coffee?  Coke?"

   "Coffee would be great," Cindy said.  "Can I help you fix it?"

   "Sure," Jo said.  "Stoney makes a production out of coffee, though."

   "Really?" Cindy's voice sounds twelve.

   "I see you have your computer out already," Dan said.  "Mind if I crank
mine up?"

   "Certainly not.  Do you need power?"

   "Nah.  Battery should hold up long enough." He extracted a high-end
laptop and opened it.

   "Boots fast," I said.  "SSD?"

   "Yep.  Life's too short to wait on spinning disks."

   Okay, points to Dan for geekitude.  I heard happy chatter from the
kitchen.  Add some more points for sociability for Cindy.

   We opened the files I had stored on a USB stick after he loaded them
onto his computer.  "You have wireless?"

   "Sure," I said.  I gave him a password.

   "I'm sending these to our server, just in case," he said.

   "The Nikki Server," came Cindy's voice.

   "Nikki Server?"

   "Yeah," Dan said.  "Cindy and her adopted sister Nikki built our network
and server.  UPS.  RAID.  Linux.  I may be talking Greek."

   "Or geek," I said.

   "That's the obvious leap," Dan laughed.  "So, okay ...  What do we have
here?"

   "Go!  " I heard Jo's voice.  "If you're into that stuff..."

   "My future," Cindy said.  She squeezed up next to Dan, looking at his
monitor.  "So that's the Central American grid," she said softly.

   "Kinda sorta," I said.  "Supposed to be in place in 2013.  Like
everything else, behind schedule, over budget..."

   "And under-engineered," Dan said.

   "We're doing some of Guatemala's part," I said.

   Dan asked questions about the numbers I've been working with.  More
surprising, Cindy asked questions.  Good questions.

   Jo came in with a tray of steaming mugs of coffee, with cream and sugar
in little servers.

   "Wow," Dan said.  "Haven't had service like this since I don't know
when."

   "I hope you like it," I said.

   "He's nutty about his coffee," Jo interjected.

   "Yeah, baby," Cindy added.  "You should see his coffeemaker.  And you
heard us grind the beans."

   Okay, good coffee's important.  I had Jo hooked.  And Key.  And Hutch.

   And when Dan's eyes rolled back in his head after the first sip... 
"Cindy, get information, baby."

   She waved her iPhone.  "Ahead of you there, guy." She's a
bouncy-sounding little thing.

   "Surprised," Dan said.  "Good coffee."

   "We don't waste our money on Starbucks," Jo said.

   We dug a bit in the work stuff.

   "Do you have to go down there?" Dan asked.

   "Not these days.  Everything goes out electronically."

   "Good," he said.  "Don't relish some of those Third-World jobs. 
Although this ain't Iraq."

   "You did Iraq?"

   "Gulf War I," Dan said.

   "Oh, well..." I started.

   "Stoney did Operation Iraqi Freedom," Jo said.  She pointed to the frame
on the wall that held my discharge certificate, ribbons, unit patch."

   "Silver Star?  What?" Dan said.

   "Bad day for the wrong kind of engineer," I said.

   "I was combat engineers," Dan replied.

   "Me too."

   "The other two engineers in our firm also."

   "Really?" I said.  "What's the chance?"

   Dan laughed.  Cindy said, "We're subject to all too many coincidences in
our lives.  Lemme show you the Sisterhood."

   "I got that on here," Dan said.  "Better size than your iPhone." He
clicked the trackpad a few times and a picture popped up on the screen.

   "You see me and Dan," Cindy said.  "This is Dan 2.0 and Nikki.  This is
Alan and Tina and Terri.  And this is Jason and Susan.  We're the original
community.  And this is Sim and Beck and Rachel.  He's faculty at Auburn.
She's gonna be our new admin."

   "You look a bit young to be in college," Jo said.

   "Turned fifteen in September," Cindy replied.  "I sort of got a head
start."

   "She graduated high school at fourteen.  She'll graduate college in two
years."

   "Seriously?" Jo blurted.

   "Yes," Cindy said demurely.  "Outrageous, isn't it?  And let's see,
Nikki turned sixteen last summer.  Tina turned eighteen, and Susan's
nineteen.  And we all graduate together."

   "You need any more of this stuff?" Dan asked.  "I think I've got what I
need from you."

   "Good," Jo said.  "Now we can be social."

   We were.  Because Cindy saw a picture I'd taken of Johanna in the first
concert I'd seen her.  She was dressed in her flowing gown, her hair a bit
of red perfection, holding her flute, the stage's curtains in the
background.

   "Beautiful picture," Cindy said.

   "Thank you," my Jo smiled.

   "You play, still?"

   "Every day," Jo said.  With a little giggle, she said, "And Stoney's
going to play a concert with me."

   "You play?" Dan asked.

   "Banjo."

   Dan laughed.  "Seriously?"

   "Dan, he's the most serious banjo player I ever met," Jo laughed.  "And
he's going to play the harp part in a Mozart concerto with me for our
Christmas concert."

   "Mozart's Concerto for Flute and Harp." I know that piece.  It's
beautiful.  You can do that with a banjo?" Dan asked.

   "Wanna show 'em?" I asked Jo.  When Jo nodded, Cindy's smile changed to
a little squeal of glee.

   "I love it, too," Cindy said.

   Jo went to the closet and retrieved my banjo.

   "Is that a guitar in there?" Dan asked.

   "Yeah," I said.  "I haven't played it in years, though."

   "Do you mind if I..."

   "You play?"

   Cindy nodded enthusiastically.  "And he's pretty good, too."

   "Bluegrass.  Classic rock."

   "Cajun," Cindy added.

   "Give us a note, baby," I said to Jo.  We tuned up, then Jo got us off
into trouble by playing the opening phrase of Dueling Banjos on her flute.
You just know I had to chase her through it, and to my happy surprise, Dan
Richards jumped in and matched me phrase for phrase.

   "Now that everybody's loosened up," Jo said.

   "Listen to 'er," I intoned.  "She's the one with a college music
education."

   Johanna stuck her tongue at me, eliciting a giggle from Cindy.  "Okay,
Stoney.  Let's do our concerto."

   We did it.  When we finished, Cindy had a tear rolling down her cheek.

   "Beautiful," she said.  "Absolutely beautiful.  I love music.  I love
the music we make.  I love listening to music.  But this is the best thing
that's ever been presented to me personally."

   Maybe it's a redhead to redhead thing, but when Cindy said that, Jo
teared up herself and sat beside Cindy and hugged her.  "Gosh, that's the
best compliment I ever received, Cindy."

   "I'm amazed," Dan said.  "I never thought of a banjo working that part.
You surprised me."

   "Thank you," I said.  "Jo's fault."

   "I understand.  I too have a redhead in my life.  Takes me to places I
never expected."

   So we got into the 'how'd you meet' conversation, courtesy of Johanna
asking Cindy, and then the answer to the big surprise of Cindy's age and
her advancement from middle school to college.  I watched her as she let
Dan tell the story.

   "So by the end of her eighth grade year, she was helping her math
teacher work through masters' level math.  And now the School of
Engineering at Auburn's not sure what to do with her."

   "Nikki, either," Cindy said.  "She's almost a year older, but she's
right there with me in school."

   I said, "I wish you lived closer.  I'd like to meet the rest of the
bunch."

   "Well, we ended up in Auburn.  That's where she got recruited," Dan
said.

   "Several important people in my life are Auburn alumni.  But you know,
we're probably all coming back to Louisiana for Christmas.  That's only a
couple of hours for a drive." She looked thoughtful and then produced a
bigger smile.  "If you can find your way to the airport, we'll fly over and
get you."

   Johanna regarded her diminutive counterpart.  "You fly."

   Cindy animatedly nodded.  "Dan's got a license.  I'm too young.  We flew
ourselves here."

   "I didn't even think to ask," I said.  "I just assumed you came in on a
commercial flight."

   "If I had to do the West Coast..." Dan started.

   "No we wouldn't," Cindy chirped.  "We'd leave a few days early.  You owe
me the Rockies, you!"

   "I promised 'er we'd fly the Rockies when we got married.  College seems
to have gotten in the way."

   "Oh, come on, Cindy!  You're fifteen?  You oughtta get Dan to take a
couple of weeks and just GO!" Jo smiled at her own idea.

   "Not until you finish my project," I said.

   "Oh, don't be selfish," Jo laughed.

   "I owe her a trip, too.  We got married in the middle of her semester."

   "Where are you goin'?" Cindy asked.

   "Not sure," Jo said.  "Still under discussion.  Waiting until I
graduate."

   "And when I'm not a cripple."

   "Bob said this isn't the first time you've had the leg..."

   "That Purple Heart over there.  Long time ago."

   Dan nodded.  He'd been there.  Understood.

   "I made it without getting shot."

   "Until a bad night in Alabama," Cindy said.  "They got both of us."

   "Really?!?  You've been shot?" Jo squealed.

   Cindy nodded.  "Me once.  Dan once.  But he took hits in two places from
the same blast."

   So we listened to that story.  Mine were of the 'To whom it may concern'
variety.  Somebody was actually AFTER Cindy.  I'm amazed.  She looks like
somebody who you'd really have to be messed up to want to kill.

   I glanced at my watch.  "What are you two doing for dinner?"

   "No plans.  Figured we'd find something around the hotel."

   "Wanna go with us?" Jo asked.  "Separate cars, so I can handle my
husband's leg, but we can go out."

   "Luvit!" Cindy said.

   I appear to be correct in saying that if Cindy tells Dan it's a good
idea, then it's a good idea.  Works that way with me and Johanna.

   We trekked to a place that served traditional Texas fare, chicken-fried
EVERYTHING.  Yes, I indulged.  So did everybody else.

   Conversation covered everything from engineering to flying and sailing
to living with redheaded women.  Dan and I are both for it.

   When the bill finally came, we had the inevitable argument over it. 
"You're the client, and I just can't make myself fight a cripple," Dan
said, grabbing it.

   The conversation was entirely too delightful to let die after dinner. 
We talked Dan 'n' Cindy into following us back home and continued, more
music, more laughter.

   Finally, at almost ten, they begged off, leaving with me and Dan shaking
hands and the ladies hugging all 'round.

   After the door closed, I settled down off my crutch onto the sofa.  Jo
joined me, giving her head a shake.  "Baby, what was THAT?"

   "That?"

   "Yeah.  Dan's a nice guy.  Smart.  Very sociable.  But Cindy..."

   I smiled.  "I imagine that was you six or seven years ago."

   "I wish!" Jo blurted.  "I wasn't stupid, by any measure.  But she's
like, a force of nature."

   I laughed.  "She's something.  I had all sorts of preconceptions when I
first saw her."

   "Me too," Jo said.  "She LOOKS so young."

   "Sounds it, too, until you start parsing her words."

   "Sounds like they have a good thing going, business, college, all that,"
Jo said.  "He says he does the work he wants to do, the way he wants to do
it." She bounced a bit to turn sideways, kneeling on the sofa beside me,
her face aglow.  "Sounds like the way YOU would like to work."

   "Huh?"

   Arms around my neck.  Blue eyes seeing right through me.  "Like when I
graduate, we have the trust fund money, and we don't HAVE to do anything we
don't want to.  I have choices.  I can play where they wish me to play, and
I can be choosy.  But you ...  you're like Dad.  You can't stagnate.  I
know you.  You're an engineer because you want to be, not because you need
a higher quality of groceries than other people."

   "And I would happily do engineering for the rest of my life.  Planned
to, when I married you, Jo."

   "But you ...  we don't HAVE to, and you can..."

   "Be your roadie."

   "Or we can form a group, you and me, and tour as something like Rara
Avis."

   "Where'd that come from?" I asked.

   "'Rara avis in terris nigroque simillima cycno.' Juvenal's Satires.  'A
bird as rare upon the earth as a black swan.' Don't you think that you and
I, flute and banjo, are a rare bird?"

   "I knew the quote, baby.  But YOU have been thinking of this.  A lot."

   "Just passing the time, Stoney.  You and me.  We're so good together."

   "And you still think that when I'm a hopeless cripple?"

   "You're not hopeless, by anyone's measure.  And I will think that until
I die."

   "But the music thing?"

   "We LIVE music, baby.  Every day.  Music brought us together."

   "Oh, and red hair and blue eyes and a quick mind and sharp tongue had
nothing to do with it."

   "You adore me don't you?" she giggled softly.

   "Yes I do.  Take advantage of me."

   "Then you're not against the idea."

   "Baby, if I live though this concert without somebody throwing cabbage
at me, then I shall retract my premise of you and the orchestra suffering
mass hysteria, and I will follow YOU anywhere."



   ------

   Chapter 31

   Stoney's turn:

   Okay, I do admit that meeting Dan Richards and his surprising wife Cindy
left me thinking.  I was serious.  Cindy, barely fifteen, was a cutie.

   "Jo, drag out the baby pictures," I said.

   "Baby pictures?"

   "Yeah, I want to see what you looked like growing up."

   "I don't have 'em.  Mom keeps those."

   "I wanna see 'em," I said.  "You might've been a horribly ugly child.  I
want to prepare myself for our offspring."

   She slapped the back of my head.  "I was a wildly beautiful child in an
unconventional way."

   I had no doubts.  I thought about a gangly redheaded girl.  Trouble was,
I now HAD a picture of a fifteen year old redhead.  Okay, Cindy's hair is
not quite as bright a red as Jo's.  Cindy's like a worn penny.  Jo's is
like one that's only slightly tarnished.

   "We need to get those pictures.  Scan them."

   "I'll tell her to box 'em up and send 'em."

   "I'm calling right now." She fast-fingered her iPhone and held it to her
ear.  "Hi, Mom!" Pause.  "Yes, your son-in-law is doing quite well.  He can
walk short distances without a crutch." Pause.  "Yes ma'am, I did have a
reason to call.  A bunch, actually." Pause.  "First, I love my mom and dad.
Second, my husband, YOUR son-in-law, wishes to see what I looked like
growing up.  Wants to make sure you don't get an ugly grand-child."

   She held the phone away from her ear to avoid the expected, inevitable
squeal.  "Here, you talk to him." She passed me the phone.

   "Hello, Stoney," Bridgette said.  "Let me assure you that your wife was
a beautiful child, in that knobby-kneed, freckle-infested, redhead
tradition."

   "And now her knees are no longer knobby," I laughed.

   "How's your leg, Stoney?"

   "Getting better every day.  I can clump around the house without
crutches."

   "And our Johanna is being properly caring..."

   "And nurturing," I added.

   "What brought on the desire to see her pictures?"

   "You mean, other than the fact that I adore her?"

   "Is that her squealing?" Bridgette said.  "Stoney, you're spoiling her."

   "Happily so," I said.  "We had another couple over, and the wife was a
fifteen year old redhead..."

   "Wife?  Fifteen?" Bridgette gasped.

   "Long story," I said.  "Good ending.  Anyway, it got me to wondering
what my own Johanna looked like as she grew up."

   "Ahhhh," Bridgette said.  "At the risk of sounding like a doting mother,
which I am, you will find her pictures a delightful history of my beautiful
daughter.  We'll bring them down next time we come to town."

   "That's wonderful.  You want to talk with your daughter some more?"

   "Yes.  Put her on.  And Stoney, have a good evening."

   "Thank you Bridgette.  Tell Anders that I said hello." I passed the
phone back to Jo and lifted myself up for a bathroom trip, leaving the two
of them talking.

   When I got back, I eased back down beside Jo.  We lounged lazily for a
while, listening to music, talking.

   "Trade places," she said, wiggling out of my arms.

   I know the drill.  She gets up, I pull up to sitting position, she sits
back down beside me, I lay back with my head resting on her thigh, and get
the daylights caressed out of my face.  Life could be better.  I could have
my leg back at what passes for a hundred percent, but for what things are
right now, things are pretty good.  She adores me and I adore her right
back.  Wonderful, it is.

   Her fingertip touched my nose.  "Can you stand a soup and grilled cheese
sandwich dinner?"

   "Yes.  Anyone announced a visit for tonight?"

   "Nope.  Just you and me.  All by ourselves."

   "I regret that I can't chase you around the house naked."

   Giggle.  "Sometimes hunting is not about the chase.  Sometimes the
hunter waits and his quarry comes to him."

   "Just so I get to eat my quarry," I said.

   "Sir!" she squealed.  "Take care.  You hunt dangerous game.  The hunter
may become the hunted." The giggles came tumbling out as she settled into
my arms.

   I wrapped her in my arms, inwardly cursing my partially functional leg.
Her back was against my chest.  I nuzzled the top of her head, feeding my
senses.

   "I'll never get dinner made like this, sir," she said.

   "We can live on love," I countered.

   "Nuh-uh!" she squealed "I've heard your stomach when you get hungry."

   "Well, dear, if that characteristic of my digestive tract is an
impediment to our continued happiness, then perhaps a meal is in order."

   "I will do dinner.  Then we will shower, and I guarantee I will wear you
out," she smiled.

   "I see that as a challenge.  I'm not the one subject to losing
consciousness during orgasm..."

   She kissed me long.  "That's because I have YOU for a partner."

   Okay, Jo has played with 'grilled cheese sandwich' and taken it further,
eschewing the sliced American cheese and white bread in favor of something
from a cheese case at the market and bread from the bakery, and soup is
something we make a big pot of on occasion and freeze in serving-sized
clods.  So it was good soup.  And good cheese sandwiches.  And good
company.

   And I'm walking better.  Around the house I dispense with the crutch or
the cane.  And in bed ...  Well, Johanna still likes to be on top, leg or
not, so I'll settle for that concession.  I get to gaze up into that
angelic face, blue eyes sparkling, the grin, the formation of freckles, and
all that is given to me freely, lovingly, and in ways my feeble imagination
never was able to generate.

   That takes care of evenings.  I was dying during the day.  My doctor,
despite my entreaties, wasn't ready to release me for work.

   "Randall..."

   "Yessir."

   "You try too hard already."

   "Doc, I've been through this before."

   "You were ten years younger."

   "I promise I won't walk but short distances, I'll rest, and I'll use the
cane."

   "Randall, the week before Christmas.  NO sooner."

   "You don't understand.  I am an engineer.  It's not like I'm scaling the
high iron downtown."

   "The week before Christmas."

   "Yessir..."

   Despite the fact that I was much more able to care for myself, Key's
visits didn't stop.  "Jo, really, I don't mind.  He studies with me.  We
even play music together."

   That got me the "Stoney.  You and Key?" talk.

   "Key's got Hutch.  I LIKE Hutch.  I'd never do anything but be a friend
to Key for a million reasons, Johanna Elise."

   "A Million?"

   "Yeah, and nine hundred ninety-nine thousand, nine hundred of them are
the love I have for every freckle on your pretty face."

   Squeal.  "I don't have THAT many freckles."

   "They multiply in my head.  You know how I am about your freckles."

   "You're just strange.  But Key..."

   "Beautiful.  Smart.  But NOT you.  I married you.  That's a forever
thing and I don't mean I get to dip in another pool from time to time."

   "Key's..."

   "Exotic?  No ...  Well, yeah, but not as exotic as a freckled,
redheaded, Irish-Norwegian concert musician who loves sailing."

   "Because she's black?"

   "Oh, heavens, no.  The girl's a delight, but there are societal hurdles
there.  But the biggest hurdle, dear, is that I am in love with you."

   "So it's safe, her coming over?"

   "Yes.  She's sane.  I'm sane.  We have something in common: You're
adored by both of us."

   "But she told me that if she was into 'white boys'..."

   "When'd she say that?"

   "When we first started dating."

   "Baby, you know that she took me off the list when I became your
possession.  As I did with any other woman, when I met you."

   She flopped atop me.  "Good answer.  Because I'm that way about you,
too, Mister Jackson."

   "So my friend can still come over and play?" I asked, smiling.

   "As long as the game doesn't involve 'hide the pickle'." Giggle.

   "Johanna, I love you."

   "And I love you.  And that's a forever thing."

   Of course, I should know that such a conversation would be passed on
between two girls who'd roomed together.

   Key looked up from her iPad when I walked back into the living room. 
"You're limping less, Stoney."

   "I'm doing pretty good between the kitchen and the sofa.  I get kind of
twitchy going across the parking lot," I replied as I sat down.

   Dark brown eyes regarded me.  "Jo talked with you about you an' me,
huh?"

   Okay.  How much did Jo tell her best friend?  "Yeah..."

   "I think it's cute," Key said.  "You know Jo's my best friend, huh?"

   "That's the way I understood it.  Why?"

   "Because since you an' her connected, you're like one of my best
friends, too."

   "I count myself privileged."

   She giggled.  "As well you should.  But..."

   "But what?"

   "Got me a Hutch."

   "Got you a great guy, as best I can tell.  Of course, he and I never
have long conversations about relationships..."

   Another giggle.  "Not a guy thing," she said.  "But yeah, I think so. 
But I know she told you that I said that if I was into white boys..."

   "I count myself privileged again."

   "You should.  And I love you like a brother.  An' I love Jo like a
sister."

   "Makes us good friends."

   She smiled.  "Yes it does.  And your wife loves you to pieces.  And me,
too ...  I love both of you."

   So let's just leave it like that.  So when Jo pushed the door open one
afternoon, I was sitting on the sofa at one end with my banjo and Key was
at the other with her oboe.

   "Gitcha flute, white girl," Key laughed.

   "We've reached a conclusion, Johanna," I said.

   "Oh?" Her eyebrow arched.  I'd seen the same expression on her mom.

   "If you think that flute and banjo is incongruous, you oughtta consider
banjo and oboe."

   "An' I was gonna get 'im to wear blackface..." Key giggled.  She caught
Jo's expression.  "Yeah, I can say that.  I'm a black girl."

   Squeal!  "You ARE?  I just thought you were just well-tanned!"

   "PFFFFFFT!" Key stuck her tongue at Jo.

   We played a bit, heard a soft knock at the door.  Jo answered it.  "Oh,
please come in," she said.

   The Hlinkas came in, accompanied by the aroma of freshly baked cookies.

   "You don't have to pay your way in here, Mizz Betta," I said.  "But you
do make the best cookies."

   Georg smiled.  "A man who comes home to the smells of those in his home
is a fortunate man indeed." He surveyed the room.  "Of course, a man who
can sit in his home and make beautiful music with two lovely ladies is
equally fortunate."

   "We're just playing around, Mister Georg," Key said.

   "As we did in my youth, Miss Key," He said.  "Betta and her friends
would sit and listen and laugh as my friends and I loved and lived and
laughed with our music.  To be free, to have the power to make music, it
was good." His old eyes slipped far away, then returned.  "Very good.  And
I am able to see it again in you."

   Key's face was soft, understanding.  She's not a dummy in the first
place, and not insensitive, in the second.  She realized what she was
hearing.  "Mister Georg, thank you so much for saying that to me.  Mizz
Betta, no wonder you married 'im.  He's got the heart of a poet."

   "Oh, my dear, you should have seen him at twenty-two.  He made my heart
leap.  He still does." She smiled.  Fifty years of wrinkles disappeared as
in my mind's eye I saw Georg and Betta as my Johanna and me.

   "Mister Georg, play with us," Jo said.

   He smiled.  He had Key's old oboe case with him.  "You young people make
us remember..." as he opened the case and assembled the instrument.  He and
Key tuned up, then we played bits and pieces of familiar classical pieces
for an hour before Betta gathered Georg up to return to their apartment and
Key had to leave to go meet Hutch.

   I sat there as Jo picked up a few plates and glasses.

   "Do you see what we just did, Stoney-guy?" she queried.

   "I saw something.  What did YOU see?"

   "Time travel," she said.  " I know I saw Georg and Betta as themselves
in 1968."

   "That's what I saw."

   She smiled.  "I hope they saw it, too."

   "I know they did," I said.  "If, indeed, they ever stopped seeing it."

   "That's us in fifty years," she said.

   "You mean you're gonna learn to bake cookies?"

   "Beast!" she giggled, swatting me.  "And yes, I have Mizz Betta's
recipe." She landed a few much-appreciated kisses on me.  "There's cookies
and there's COOKIES," she said between the kisses.

   Indeed there is.

   I still had the engineering itch.  Hey, you have to understand, I'm one
of those people who's fortunate to have a career he enjoys.  I tried
getting Bob to let me work from home.

   "Can't do it, Stoney," he said.  "I asked.  HR and IT both kicked.  HR
says they don't want the liability of you being paid for working from home
because they're liable if you hurt yourself.  And IT's all worked up about
computer security."

   "And both departments are rule-blocked doofuses scared of making
decisions."

   "They hide behind rules," Bob agreed.

   So Stoney the electrical engineer is dead in the water.  I don't have to
be that way.  I punched up the screen on my iPhone, scrolled down.  There
it is: '3Sigma'.  I hit 'call'.

   "3Sigma Engineering.  This is Maddie.  How can we help you?"

   "This is Randall Jackson.  Is Dan Richards available?"

   "Yessir.  Let me transfer you." Click.

   "Dan Richards.  Can I help you?"

   "Dan, this is Stoney.  I'm dyin' on the vine, man."

   "Talk to me," he laughed.

   "They're bein' mean to me, Dan," I said.  "I can't work from home.  I
can't go to the office until the doctor releases me."

   "And you and that redhead..."

   "She goes to school.  So what're you working on?"

   "Besides your project?"

   "Yeah.  Talk engineering to me."

   So we talked shop for half an hour, finishing with, "Man, I wish you
were closer.  You really need to meet the rest of the bunch."

   "Who's that, baby?"

   I heard the voice.  That crazy little pixie that was his wife.

   "Stoney.  In Houston.  He's all by himself and having engineering
withdrawal shakes."

   I heard the click.

   "You're on speaker," Dan said.

   "Hi, Mister Stoney," Cindy chirped.

   "Hi, Cindy, and please don't call me 'mister'.  I feel decrepit enough
as it is."

   Her giggle is almost as melodic as Jo's.  "You're not decrepit, okay? 
Stoney.  Where's Jo?"

   "Class.  All afternoon."

   "I was on campus all morning," Cindy said.  "Talk to me about dI/dT. 
I'm putting high current DC pulses out on a conductor."

   "Ooooooh," I said.

   "See what I have to put up with," Dan said.

   "Good stuff," I replied.

   "I know," Cindy said.  "Now, who's already fought this battle?"

   "Siemens," I said.  "Here's their approach..."

   A half-hour later, Dan said, "Now stop and think, Stoney.  The
discussion you've been having for the last hour about a fine point of
engineering and design, you've been having that conversation with a fifteen
year old girl."

   Cindy giggled.  "What about if we meet you at a little airport outside
Houston next Friday and bring the two of you over here for the weekend?"

   I thought.  "Let me run it past my sweetie.  But it sounds doable.  But
Monday night's our big group session with a bunch of the orchestra."

   "We'll get you back in time," Cindy said.  "And you get the choice of
seats.  I'd even sit in the back seat with Jo." Giggle.

   "She's not quite adventurous enough to navigate across Houston," Dan
said.

   "The traffic restrictions are NUTS!" Cindy said.

   "It takes a lot to get'er to let me fly any more," Dan laughed. 
"Houston air traffic does it."

   "Let me talk with Jo.  She's usually good for an adventure."

   "And pack your banjo and her flute," Cindy said.  "Music's a big thing."

   "Yes it is," I said.

   When Jo walked in after class, she kissed me.  "So what did YOU do while
I was gone?"

   "Got the engineering shakes.  Called Dan Richards and talked for a
while."

   "Really?"

   "Yeah.  Him and Cindy.  And SHE asked the technical questions."

   Smile.  "There's more to this story, isn't there?"

   "How could you tell?"

   "You're my Stoney and I know your looks.  Spill it."

   "Next Friday, they're flying down to pick us up and take us to Alabama
for a visit.  We'll be back Monday afternoon."

   "In their plane?  Wow!"

   "I take that as a 'yes'?"

   Giggle-squeal.  Her iPad was coming out.  "I'm emailing her right now.
I'll let everybody know that I'm skipping the Monday classes." She took a
breath.  "Are we still good for the Greater Houston Area Collegiate
Classical Jam Session?"

   "Cindy says we'll be back in time."

   She smiled.  "That girl's something, isn't she?"

   "Yeah," I said.  "A little 'you'."

   "Is that a bad thing?" she asked.

   "Nope.  Just nice to think that somebody else on this planet is as happy
as I am."

   "They just look so strange," Jo opined.  "When I was fourteen..."

   "She's fifteen now, and two years from graduating college with a four
year degree.  So if you take the number out and then look at her as a
college junior..."

   Jo gave me a funny look.  "Did you come up with that on your own?"

   "No, that's the way her husband explained it."

   "One might assume he's been questioned before."

   She smiled.  "I know I'd have questions.  Still do.  But she seemed so
nice.  And smart and animated.  And he's just placid."

   "That's what they say about me since YOU came along."

   "What do they say?"

   "Stoney's a lot less intense.  Mellowed."

   Giggle.  "I've given you an outlet for excess testosterone.  Nice."

   "They say that, too.  Nicer."

   "Well, if there's a noticeable difference, I need to keep doing what
we've been doing, for the good of the planet."

   "Screw the planet," I said.

   Giggle.  "How selfish.  But we'll look past that.  You wanna do a dual
shower tonight?  Can your leg handle it?"

   "Won't handle it long."

   "I'll wash you and push you out."

   "I love it when you innovate," I laughed.

   Half an hour later, I was lying in bed, my leg stretched out
comfortably, listening to the hair dryer going in the bathroom.  When it
turned off, there was a thump, then she came into the bedroom.

   "I miss you brushing my hair."

   "I'll try tomorrow, little one," I said.  She nestled back into my arms
and leaned her head back into my face.  The girl recognizes my fetish and
feeds it.

   "God, I love you," I said.

   She wiggled, maximizing the touches.  "And I love you just as much,
Stoney."

   We made love.  Speaking from a purely functional view (I am an engineer,
after all) I am a lot more mobile these days, and the odd push or pull or
pressure on my battered leg doesn't cause excruciating pain any more, so Jo
doesn't have to treat me like a frail invalid.  We're almost back to the
former levels of abandon and enthusiasm.

   Afterglow time.  Time for cuddles and coos and soft words and drifting
off to delicious sleep.

   Or not.

   "Engineer shakes, huh?"

   Blues[?] wanted to talk.  So we talk.

   "Yeah."

   "You're not one of those people who would do a life of leisure very
well, Stoney."

   "I talked to your dad, baby.  For a long time.  About how he handles the
idea."

   "Dad likes his challenges.  So do you.  Different challenges for the two
of you."

   "'S what your dad said.  A cousin got off into extreme sports stuff."

   "Yeah," she said, "BASE jumping.  He's a smear on a cliff in South
America."

   "Manufactured challenges.  That's because real life doesn't have any..."

   "You're being philosophical."

   "Maybe so.  But I'm being me.  I had a path laid out.  You came along,
and you fit perfectly on my path, so it was going to be our path together.
Then you told me the rest of YOUR story."

   "And it means nothing, Stoney.  Nothing except that you get to choose
your battlegrounds." She touched my face gently with her fingertips, then
kissed me lightly.  "And if you don't have a battle, then you cannot
appreciate Valhalla."

   "Valhalla."

   "Yes ...  The place of a warrior's reward."

   "As long as Valhalla includes redheaded maidens..."

   "With small boobies..."

   "With perfect boobies, I will strive for Valhalla."

   She released a peal of laughter.  "I love that I can be silly with you.
And serious at the same time."

   "And I appreciate your boobies," I said.

   She arched her back, sliding up in the bed.  "Mmmmmmm, and I love
that..."

   I love it, too.  Tonight's a double-header.  Very good for sleep, you
know.

   As we slipped off into slumber, she whispered "I know how you feel about
Valhalla, darling."

   We wended our way through the week.  Her coursework was riding toward
the end of the semester.  She was reviewing.

   "Some of this is tedious, Stoney.  Not difficult, just tedious."

   "I know, lamb.  We endure."

   "I may need a compensatory cuddle."

   "I have one of those for you right now."

   She snuggled onto my lap, her head against my chest.  I kissed that red
hair, savoring the perfume.

   "You make me soooo relaxed and content."

   "Works both ways, baby.  I can't imagine how I could've survived this
accident without you."

   "We're getting through it, okay?  You're fine.  I'm fine." Kiss.  Sleep.

   The next day, Brad came by after work.  "Bill says you're trying to come
back to work."

   "I wanted to.  Or work from home.  HR and IT..."

   "Yeah, both of 'em are real helpful.  If you add legal..."

   "Pandora's box.  All the evils in the world." What engineers talk about:
Problems.

   "So I wouldn't get in a hurry.  Is money a problem?"

   I shook my head.  "Nope.  Glad I had 'uninsured motorist' coverage on my
insurance.  Six figures worth of hospital and doctor bills."

   "That's about right," he retorted.  "You can't go near a hospital for
less than six figures these days.  Any chance of suing the guy that hit
you?"

   "Yeah, right," I laughed bitterly.  "No license.  Six guys in an
apartment, all uh, undocumented.  And if things get dicey for 'im, he just
goes back home."

   The door opened and Jo bounced in.

   "Hi, Jo," Brad said.

   "Hi, Brad.  You here to aggravate my husband?"

   "Oh, we were sharing tales of woe." He grinned when she bent over and
kissed me.

   "Awwww!" he cooed derisively.

   "Jealousy's a terrible emotion, buddy," I said.

   "And besides, Heather will give you a kiss when you get home," Jo said.
"And your little girl will give you another."

   "She's too darned smart, Stoney.  You shoulda married a dumb one."

   "No way.  Brains AND beauty.  Actually carries on a real conversation."

   He shook his head.

   "You want a coke, Brad?" Jo called from the kitchen.

   "Sure, if you don't mind."

   She brought each of us a can and sat beside me.  "So what's the latest?"

   "There is no latest, dear," he said.  "Just days and days of
never-ending tedium."

   "Yeah, right," Jo returned.  "Somebody's there rigging booby-traps in
desk drawers and re-addressing the printers and such."

   "Well, there is THAT," he said.  "We have to do that stuff to keep from
dying of boredom."

   "Apparently my husband misses it, but they won't let him back until the
doctor clears it."

   "Yeah, I know," Brad said.  "And believe me, we miss 'im." He turned to
me.  "You met the guy that contracted to finish your project, Bill says?"

   "Yeah, met 'im.  He and his wife came over and we went to dinner. 
Delightful couple," I said.

   "And they're coming down next Friday to take us to Alabama for the
weekend," Jo interjected.

   "Sounds interesting."

   "They ARE interesting," I said.  "Both intelligent and musically
inclined, so it's worth the adventure."

   "Why're they coming down here?  Why don't you just fly there?"

   "They have a light plane.  Lets us fly direct," I said.

   "And it's an adventure," Jo added.  "We'll bring back pictures."

   Brad left after we finished our drinks.  We laughed and smiled through a
practice session.  And life went on.



   ------

   Chapter 32

   Stoney's turn:

   I don't know exactly what I was expecting, but life with Johanna had
turned me quite a bit more optimistic, even if some bozo broke my leg. 
Yeah, I can drive again.  Insurance popped for a replacement of my SUV,
mostly.  By this stage of the game I could be mobile if I needed to be, on
my own.  Bumping around the apartment was not a problem.  If I started
getting messages from my leg, I just eased it straight on the sofa or in
the recliner.

   Walking out to my parking spot, though, was still a little longer than I
desired on my own.  I did it with Jo, though.  Jo's an incentive.

   And this morning, Friday morning, we have a goal, a general aviation
airport not too awfully far from the apartment.  The redhead who's driving
is excited.

   "An adventure," she said.  "First time I've ever flown in a light
plane." Giggle.  "Cindy flies it herself, she says."

   "She's too young to get a license," I said.

   "Yeah.  It's funny hearing her say that.  Says Dan sits in his seat with
his arms folded and lets 'er go."

   "When did she tell you that?"

   "She called me yesterday between classes.  Mine, not hers.  We talked
for half an hour.  She's something."

   "I can imagine."

   "I don't think you can, sweetie.  D'you know that she's part of a
government research project?  Got a security clearance?  She and her
friends built a railgun and the government bought it from them?"

   "No.  Really?"

   "Like I said.  Interesting.  I'm excited to meet the rest of that
bunch."

   I chuckled to myself.  My Johanna was impressed.

   "Oh, come on," she said.  "We wouldn't be taking this trip if you
weren't intrigued, would we?"

   "Guilty," I replied.

   "And I know YOU know how to handle any situation," she smiled.

   My iPhone rang.  "This is Stoney," I said.

   "Stoney, this is Dan.  We're about twenty minutes out.  Just checking on
you."

   "We're on the way," I replied.  "Jo's driving me."

   He laughed.  "I'm paying real close attention, but Cindy's in the
pilot's seat today.  She insisted.  You'll see soon enough."

   "I'm looking forward to this," I said.  "So's Jo."

   "The whole gang's waiting on you two," he said.  "See you in a few
minutes."

   "Okay, buddy," I said.

   "'Kay.  Seeya!" Click.

   "Checking on us?" Jo asked.

   "Uh-huh."

   We finally pulled into a parking slot at the airfield and went inside,
explaining what we were here for.

   "Once they're stopped, you can go out to meet 'em," the guy at the
counter said.  I guess he noticed my limp, even though I tried to hide it.
"Uh, I have a golf cart.  I can take you out there."

   "That's wonderful," I said.  "Had a car accident a few weeks back. 
Still kinda stoved up."

   "Oh, well, sorry.  I'll get the golf cart."

   That's a neat little perk.  I heard the speaker for the aviation radio
squawk, "Harris traffic, this is Cessna 5-5-2-3 Uniform, five miles east,
inbound for landing on one-five." I recognized the voice.  Dan.

   Jo and I sat outside at a table and we saw the Cessna (I do know a
LITTLE bit.  At least what a Cessna 180 looks like) enter the pattern,
touch down, and taxi up.  And just like Dan had said, there's a
headphone-clad redhead in the pilot seat.  And Dan held both his hands up.
Cindy in control.

   They taxied to the fuel pumps and the engine stuttered to a stop.  The
doors swung open and the occupants exited.  One of them practically ran
over and hugged Jo.  The other walked over and shook my hand.

   "You made it," I said.  "And she really flies."

   He smiled.  "Insisted.  I flew the last time into Houston.  She watched.
This time I let her fly.  I handled the communications and made sure she
understood where she needed to be.  Houston's very busy airspace."

   "I can imagine," I said.

   "I see her and Jo headed inside.  I need to make a trip myself.  Four
and a half hours is a long time.  You need to go?"

   "I better," I said, "since you mention it."

   Everybody dispensed with that task and returned to the lobby.  Dan
signed the ticket for the refueling.

   "This is our longest non-stop trip yet," Cindy chirped.

   Len, the guy behind the counter, asked, "Where'd you come in from?"

   "Auburn, Alabama," Cindy said.  "As direct as we could.  Until we hit
Houston."

   He looked at Dan.  "She flew?"

   "I handled the navigation and communications," Dan said.  "She's good,
just too young to get a license yet."

   One word.  "Wow!"

   "Oh, it's easy," Cindy said.  "He feeds me headings and altitudes and we
both watch out for traffic."

   "And you can fly?"

   "Tie-down to tie-down," Dan said.

   "But I'm sitting in the back seat for the flight back," she said.  "So I
can talk with my friend."

   "And I can straighten my leg," I added.

   We collected our luggage, two overnight bags, locked the car, and then
let Len golf-cart us to the plane.  Dan took care of stowing our bags
securely.  There's my banjo case and Johanna's flute on top of the stack.
Cindy did her preflight, explaining things to Jo, who tagged along.  I
listened.  She seems to have the knowledge.

   The girls got into the back seat and with a little effort I got into the
right front seat.

   "Pull your seat all the way back if you need to, Stoney," Cindy said. 
"I don't need the legroom.  You might be more comfortable."

   "Thanks, Cindy," I replied.  Four and a half hours, I'm sure that a
stretch might be just the thing.

   Dan slid into the pilot's seat, opened the window and shouted "CLEAR!",
and started us up.  I glanced over my shoulder, saw Jo smiling, the
intercom headset on her head.  Smiling?  Make that 'eager'.

   "You okay, babe?" I asked.

   "Which babe are you talking about?" Cindy chirped over Jo's giggle.

   "MY babe."

   "I'm fine."

   "Everybody tied down?" Dan asked.  He looked at the affirmative nods. 
"Then let's do it."

   I don't remember the details, but I do remember him talking almost
interminably with various air traffic facilities as we wended our way
across Houston.  Ten miles on the east side, though, we were climbing and
headed east-northeast towards Alabama.

   "Whewww," Dan said over the intercom, "That still makes me nervous.  But
now we can relax."

   "Yeah, relax," Cindy said.  "Just like riding in a pickup truck on a
country road."

   Jo's giggle was in my headphones too.  "It really is!  This is neat!"

   "If you could see your face right now, baby," I said to Jo.

   Cindy elbowed her.  "I was the same way.  First time I was ever off the
ground, it was in this thing."

   "I've been flying in commercial flights all my life.  This is the first
time I've ever done this," Jo replied.  "It's ...  The other stuff is so
sterile.  You're disconnected from what you're doing."

   "One of these days I guess I need to do a commercial flight.  But I like
this," Cindy said.

   "And if you'd tried to fly commercial, it'd take you a lot longer on
this trip, when you could have to change planes and rent cars and pick up
bags and get through security," Dan said.  "Believe me, I'll fly myself
unless it's more than eight hours in the air.  In this.  And then I might
talk myself into taking this."

   "I think I can understand that," I said.  "At this altitude, it's like
the difference between driving the Interstate and taking the scenic route
through the countryside."

   Dan nodded.  "That's a good analogy," Cindy said.  I regarded the use of
the word 'analogy' by Cindy in open conversation.  Of course, I was still
mulling over the 'let's talk about dI/dT' from earlier.  The summation of
all that in the package of a fifteen year old girl who was, darn it, just
CUTE, well.  Of course, I looked at Johanna and thought that Cindy might be
what Jo looked like six years ago.  Except Jo's hair was a couple of shades
brighter red.  Cindy's was aged copper.  Jo?  Just copper.

   "Baby," said Cindy, "you know how Susan says that Terri is her
'mini-me'?"

   "Yeah," Dan replied.

   "I think I'm Jo's mini-me."

   "They're close enough," Dan said.  "You've seen the pictures of the
gang. Susan's eleven years older than Terri.  Sweetie-pie just turned
fifteen in September.  How old are you, Jo?"

   "I'll be twenty-two in March."

   "So seven years..."

   "I can accept that," Jo replied.  "Can't think of a better little
sister. And Mom is getting a picture of THIS."

   "Your mom?' Cindy asked.

   "Oh, yeah, her mom," I said.  "Red hair.  Freckles."

   Johanna giggled.  "Here's Mom and Dad," she said, pulling photos up on
her iPhone.

   Cindy looked, adding her giggles to the sounds over the intercom.  "Oh,
I can see the resemblance.  Your dad, he's a big guy!"

   "Yeah," I said.  "Viking warrior and his Irish captive."

   "Really?" Cindy squealed.

   Jo told her the story.  "Almost as improbable as me and Stoney, you
know..." So she told that story, too.  I guess it was just about as normal
as meeting by the side of the pool in the summertime, if you took away that
whole forty versus thirteen angle.

   "So what did you think of Jim and Ann?" Dan asked.

   Jo laughed.  "I thought it was a rift in the universe when we found out
that they know you two."

   "Good people," Dan said.

   "They are," Cindy added.  "He's the one that sort of sent me on this
quest."

   "Quest?" Jo asked.

   "Yeah," Dan said.  "He ACTUALLY paid attention to the testing they do.
Caught my Cindy up out of the thundering herd.  She went from eight grade
to high school graduate in a matter of months."

   "We're sort of attached to them," Cindy said.

   "I can see why you might be," Jo stated.

   The miles trailed off behind us.  "Alabama," Dan announced.

   "Looks just like Mississippi which looks just like Louisiana which looks
just like Texas," I said.

   "Yeah," Cindy interjected, "straight-line route stays over the
archetypical southern forests."

   "Really, it's interesting, though," I said.  "Great country.  Best view
of it I think I ever had."

   "It is, isn't it," Johanna said.

   A bit later Dan hit the radio transmit button and announced our arrival
at their home strip, and did a leisurely approach and landing.  He taxied
us directly in front of a hangar and locked a wheel, pivoting, leaving us
perfectly lined up to put her away.

   Cindy, Dan and Jo shoved the plane back into the hangar after extracting
Dan's truck.

   "I would have liked to fill the tanks," he said of the plane," but the
pumps're locked.  I need to get a key."

   I asked why he was concerned and Cindy answered with an explanation
about temperature changes and condensation.  "But we check very carefully,"
she smiled.

   "Dan, she knows so much."

   "She pays attention.  Soaks stuff up like a sponge.  Takes a fact and
runs with it."

   I glanced at Jo, recognizing some of the same in my chosen mate,
although her path was into the beauty of music instead of engineering
esoterica.  My new friend Dan?  He had a great example of his own bit of
heaven.

   Jo and Cindy scooted into the rear seat of Dan's huge truck.  I had to
take a few seconds to position myself in it.

   "Nice truck," I said.

   Cindy giggled.  "That's what I said the first time I rode in it.  I got
the 'it's a tool' speech."

   "It's a necessity.  Or at least it WAS a necessity when I was towing a
travel trailer around," Dan said.  "And I didn't know I was so predictable.

   Cindy playfully stuck her tongue at him.  "Oh, it's more than that.  I
talked with Tina and Nikki and they both got the 'It's a tool' speech from
their husbands," Cindy laughed.  "Maybe you're from a more genteel land,
but around where I grew up (GREW UP!?!?!  She's FIFTEEN!) a big pickup
truck was almost a measure of a man's success as well as his testosterone
level."

   "Sweet Cindy, we're living in TEXAS, the Big Pickup Truck Capital of the
World!" Jo laughed.  "And I' married a guy with a Japanese SUV!"

   "And a sailboat.  Don't forget the boat," I said.

   Jo giggled again.  "He said it was forty feet.  It's really thirty-six,"
she smirked.

   "Really?  A sailboat?" Cindy chirped.

   "Yes.  It's our magical place," Jo said.

   "I think I understand what you mean.  We have a travel trailer that's
like that for us," Cindy said.

   "They're dangerous together, Stoney," Dan said.  "I think their minds
are melding."

   I nodded.  "Like slapping a couple of hydrogen atoms together."

   "Jo," Cindy said, "they're equating us to..."

   "Nuclear fusion," Jo finished.  The pair giggled.  "Stoney does that."

   "Yeah," Cindy said, "jokes that almost nobody in the world gets.  But we
do, huh?"

   Jo smiled, nodding agreement.

   "Did you call and let 'em know we're landed?" Dan asked Cindy.

   "Not yet.  Let me do that," she replied.  "Let's see, if I call Tina,
she'll get the word out fastest." She punched up Siri.  "Call Tina mobile."

   She talked excitedly into the phone.  "Yes, it's an adventure.  A GOOD
adventure." Her eyes flashed at Jo.  "Well, let's meet at the pavilion. 
Yeah, for starters.  And be thinking about dinner.  We can go someplace."
Pause.  "Oh, they're from Houston.  They'll eat anything!" Pause.  "Okay,
seeya, Sis!  Love you too!  Bye!"

   She scanned us.  "Well, that's set up!  The whole gang'll be there. 
We'll get your stuff in the guest room, do a 'meet 'n' greet' at the
pavilion, have a spirited discussion of where to eat, then go..."

   I am told that it's not often to find Cindy's plans to be inaccurate,
but we got to the pavilion, met everybody, Johanna said something about
music, and with that, leaving for dinner was off the table.  It's a college
town and carry-out was an option.  Somebody said finger foods and a couple
of phones came out.

   "I got it on my iPad," Susan said.  "How much?"

   "Enough," Nikki said with a toss of her head.

   "Are the Weismanns coming?"

   Terri (who does indeed look like Susan's genome more than Alan's)
replied, "In a bit."

   Introductions.  I was keeping track, of course, but there's Dan 1.0,
whom we already knew, and of course, Cindy.  There's Dan 2.0 (a moniker
that caused Jo to giggle) and Nikki, there's Alan and Tina and the
unmistakable (almost NINE!) Terri, and Jason and Susan.  And they were
staring at me and Jo.

   "It's time," Cindy said.  "Sing for your supper."

   "I take it you mean music, then," I said.

   "You're the one that brought a banjo.  And Jo's got her flute.  And I
have it from the Hardesty's that you guys do very well in a real concert
hall." Cindy smiled.  "Not something you'd keep a secret, exactly.  They'll
be here tomorrow."

   "Tomorrow?" Jo squealed.  "Really?"

   "Yeah," Dan (Cindy's, that make shim Dan 1.0, I think) said.  "And their
two kids.  I hope you don't mind."

   "Mind?!?" Jo squealed.  "I think it's wonderful."

   Cindy giggled.  "There's more to this than engineering and science, you
know.  So play!"

   How can you refuse an 'order' with THAT smile behind it?  "Ain't gonna
be the only ones," I said.  "Dan, go get your guitar."

   Jo was assembling her flute when the Weismanns walked up.  We introduced
ourselves.  Sim eyed Jo's flute.

   "Flute?" he said.  "With this bunch?"

   "Of course," she said.  "I can do classical..."

   "Soloist with the university orchestra," I bragged.  My Johanna.  I get
to brag.

   She smiled at me and continued.  "And so can Stoney.  We're
multi-discipline.  Classical.  Celtic.  Bluegrass."

   "I'll see your 'bluegrass' and raise you 'klezmer'."

   Jo giggled.  I have a passing knowledge of klezmer music, the wildly
animated sounds centered around central European Jewry.

   "Heyyyy," Cindy said, "you never said anything about klezmer."

   "My husband is..."

   "I didn't want to intrude.  But since you bring in outsiders," he smiled
at me and Jo, "I just might..."

   "What instrument?" Jo asked.

   "Violin.  A lot more portable than a piano.  Every good Jewish boy has a
mother who wants a musician."

   "And a doctor," Beck said.

   "Okay," Dan 1.0 said, "Since you announced it, trot it on out."

   "You're causing my husband to open up.  He's actually quite good.  Just
bashful," Beck said.  "This bunch is changing him." She smiled.  "In a good
way."

   Jo and I attacked a couple of phrases until Dan and Sim returned.

   Cindy dropped the bomb in Sim's lap.  "Tomorrow our friends from back
home are visiting.  He's another banjo player..." She eyed me, smiling. 
"She," she said, smiling at Sim, "is a classically trained violinist." She
paused for effect.  "Who is one heck of a bluegrass fiddler, as well.  And
they've already met Jo and Stoney."

   "You're serious," Sim said.

   "Yes indeed," Cindy said.  "If you're over your shyness, Mister Sim..."

   "I shall try," Sim said.  Beck was smiling, with just a tiny bit of
'smug' behind it.

   "She's not intimidating," Cindy said.  She turned to me and Jo.  Jo
smiled.

   "Do it," Cindy said.  "You KNOW you want to."

   "Whatever do you mean, little redhead?" Jo countered.

   "Dueling EVERYTHING!"

   Smiling, Jo put her flute to her lips, her eyes laughed at me, and she
played the opening bars.

   I caught Dan's eye, plunked the response, then Dan followed on guitar.

   "Key of 'A'," Jo said to Sim.  "Don't be shy.  Cadenzas.  They're just
called 'breaks' in bluegrass."

   "No self-respecting fiddle player would ever say 'cadenza'," Dan
chuckled.

   Sim smiled.  "Never in my life did I imagine..." and he jumped in.

   I don't know if I'm possessed by the ONLY bluegrass flute player on the
planet, but I darned sure got ONE.

   "Klezmer's a lot of minor key stuff," Sim said.  "Jo's probably there.
What about guitar and banjo?"

   "Jo made me start learning scales," I said.  "I can try." We tried one.

   Sims grinned.  "My great-grandmother would be proud.  Great-Granddad
would be amused that we get this outside the Jewish community."

   "Community," Cindy said.  "That's our word.  People who want to be
together."

   "It's a good word," Jo grinned.  "This works."

   Jason and Susan showed back up with food that we dutifully spread on the
table and everybody dove in.

   "I wish the Desais would get their restaurant back up," Jason said.  "I
miss 'em."

   "Grandma Desai said they're re-opening next week," Cindy reported. 
"Just like new."

   "Good," Dan said.  "Our Indian restaurant people.  Cindy adopted the
grandmother.  Or vice versa."

   "I have my own bindi and my name is Chandra," Cindy chirped.  "It's
quite the honor."

   "Cindy, sit by Jo.  I need a picture," Susan said.  "Mom needs to see
another rift in the fabric of the universe."

   "Your mom what?" Jo squeaked, laughing.

   "Oh, Susan's mom is amazed at the whole community.  Thinks it's gotta be
a twist in the time-space continuum," Cindy answered.  Cindy wrinkles her
nose when she grins.  So does Johanna.

   Pictures were taken, reviewed and sent.  Conversation was intermingled
with music.  I was enthralled.  Of course, I have my Johanna (and she has
me) but the other couples were happy.  I saw no signs of tension or stress,
just people who had a lot of appreciation for socializing in a wholesome
venue.

   "I want to see you head to head with Jim.  He's a heck of banjo player,
really, but I don't think he'd tackle that concerto.  And his wife on the
violin..."

   "I'd like that," Sim said.  "This just makes me realize that this thing
doesn't belong in the closet."

   Beck touched his arm.  "I've been trying to tell you, dear."

   "Jim and I had fun in Houston," I said.  "This makes it even better."

   Yes, this was a very pleasant and intimate way to make music, a
veritable pot-luck dinner with the servings being sound instead of food.  I
could see how such a thing would be fun.  Then I thought just a second.  We
were doing this on Monday nights back in Houston.  Brought the thought
about the Hlinkas to mind.

   "Our next-door neighbors hear us doing this at our apartment," I said.

   Jo smiled at the memory.  "They're retired.  From Czechoslovakia.  He
played oboe when he was young.  We had a session going in our apartment
after Stoney's accident and Mister Georg heard us.  They came over.  My
friend Key is our First Oboist.  She let him try hers, then loaned him her
old one."

   I liked the story.  I was an almost reclusive apartment-dweller.  I'd
said hello to the Hlinkas from time to time.  It took Jo and her music to
bring a dimension to my life that I knew did not exist before.  I wondered
how many of the men here had similar tales.  Jo opened my life up.  I
watched Cindy, Nikki, Susan and Tina and could easily see them doing the
same for fortunate mates.

   Sim slid next to me on the bench.  "Crazy bunch, this," he said.  "Those
girls have a way of getting people to 'happy'.  How did you get involved in
this?"

   "I met Dan Richards because 3Sigma contracted to finish my project while
I'm out on disability.  He brought Cindy down to Houston with him and we
had dinner."

   Sim laughed.  "And that's all it takes."

   "Yeah," I said.  "Look at 'em." I motioned toward Cindy and Johanna. 
"How could I NOT see a connection.  I think it's like looking at my wife
when she entered high school."

   "Yeah," he said.  "Except that little thing's all over college.  Her and
Nikki are outside the four-year system.  Susan and Tina are still in it,
but their records of completion and credit look like a sieve.  They've
knocked out so much of it that it's almost funny.  All four are looking at
completion in two years."

   "Two years..." I sighed.

   "Tell me about it," he said.  "I know for a fact that one of the
professors in the Engineering Department asked Nikki what she'd do with an
engineering degree at the age of eighteen.  And Cindy's a year younger. 
Same place."

   "And you're in sociology?" I asked.  "You must be dying to write about
this."

   "I don't know where to start." He shrugged.  "The marriage thing? 
Broken homes and single moms?  Getting by in school until somebody picks
them out and supports them?  All sorts of little side stories."

   "Interesting.  I keep expecting to see something that just doesn't show
up."

   "They're happy.  They're decent.  And man, are they smart.  And the
little one, Terri, she's dragging my Rachel along.  I swear that Rachel's
bloomed since we moved in."

   Johanna came to sit by me and Terri and Rachel followed her.

   "What's up, Terri-dactyl?" Jo said.  The two little girls giggled.

   "Mizz Jo.  Mister Stoney, are y'all gonna come live here?  We still have
apartments open."

   "Baby," Jo said, "I have to finish college.  That won't be until next
spring."

   I'm surprised that Johanna didn't immediately just uproot her life and
move here.  Looking at the sweet innocent openness of Terri's face, I
almost would've.

   "You can go to college with everybody else here," Terri said.

   "I'm a semester away from graduating where I'm at, and I'm established
there.  It wouldn't be right to all my friends in the orchestra for me to
leave now."

   "I suppose you're right," Terri said mournfully.

   "Of course she's right," Rachel countered.  "She's an adult and she's
like, one of US!"

   I pondered what it meant to be "one of US" in this community.

   Sim caught it, too.  Sim also caught his daughter sliding onto his lap.
"The two of them are synergistic.  And so are the rest."

   "There's nothing like this on my campus," Jo told Sim.

   "I suspect that if we look strictly at IQ, most campuses would be
fortunate to have one or two of these.  Tina and Susan, they'd be in the
upper strata, but to have a Nikki or a Cindy, that's rare," Sim said. 
Rachel planted a kiss on his cheek and took off.  When she was out of
earshot, he continued, "And as much as I adore my daughter, she's not
nearly a Terri.  Rachel's going to grow up to be in Susan or Tina's class."

   Cindy came over to sit with us.  "What's the topic?" she asked.

   "Smart kids," Sim said.

   "Like Terri and Rachel?"

   "Like everybody here," I said.  "Remarkable."

   Cindy smiled.  Only Johanna has a more charming smile.  "I heard Terri
ask..."

   "It's sweet of her to wish that, Cindy," Jo said.  "But we have
responsibilities back in Houston."

   "I understand.  You have honor.  Sense of duty.  Still doesn't make the
wish any less real."

   "You just KNOW we're going to stay in touch," Jo told her.  "And when I
graduate, who knows?  Stoney's job situation may change.  But I need a
classical music scene.

   "Make your own.  Rara Avis has to come from somewhere."

   "You have too good a memory, Cindy," Jo giggled.



   ------

   Chapter 33

   Johanna's Turn:

   According to the stories I heard at my Momma's knee when I was little, I
should be looking for leprechauns.  This stuff got surreal.

   First, there's Dan and Cindy.  Cindy could be a pixie.  Dan showed up to
talk with Stoney about picking up where Stoney left off on an engineering
project when he had his accident.  So I figured 'another engineer?  What
could it hurt?' Except this engineer shows up with a fifteen year old
redheaded pixie of a wife, and we had a delightful time.

   Delightful it was, because where my Stoney plays banjo, Dan Richards
plays guitar, and we had fun playing music together.  And Cindy's got a
beautiful voice.  Untrained, but beautiful.

   Okay, that in itself wouldn't bump the screen too hard, but then the
next week was our December concert and the premier performance in public
for one Randall 'Stonewall' Jackson who was on stage with the orchestra and
me in our premier (and perhaps ONLY) public performance of Mozart's
Concerto for Flute and Harp, with the harp part replaced by my Stoney and
his banjo.

   I don't think Stoney was aware of the audience when he took his seat on
stage, but I was.  I have to admit that there's a certain amount of
snobbery among the aficionados of classical music, and the appearance of a
"OMG!  It's a BANJO!  Eeeek!  Is this Hee-haw?!?" on stage in their nice,
civilized concert caused a lot of bemusement and, yes, some frowns.

   Doctor Bob has enough self-assurance to do things like this, and when he
introduced me and Stoney, things were under control.

   I love this piece.  Stoney and I have practiced it so much, just the two
of us, and then us with various amounts of the orchestra, and with the
WHOLE orchestra, so while the orchestra was playing the opening phrases, I
was watching Stoney and I was watching the audience.

   The Third Movement of that piece has the harp, Whoops!, the BANJO coming
in first and then the flute joining in, so I was watching when Stoney's
fingers took control.  That little curtain of concern over his face, it
went away when he started playing.  I know what happens.  I'm the same way:
the music becomes the center of one's being.  Stoney was in the zone. 
That's what I saw with Stoney.  What I saw with the audience was
transformational.  The faces changed.  I don't know what they were
expecting, but I know what they were hearing, and it was good.  No, better
than good.

   And when my flute came to my lips, I was playing for the orchestra, my
extended musical family, and I was playing for Mom and Dad, and when our
eyes connected, I was playing for my Stoney, the merging of this music just
another one of the many ways we joined.  And the audience?  They were just
along for the ride.

   Standing ovation.  I've had a few.  It was Stoney's first and he's still
shaky on that leg after he's been sitting a while, but he stood with me,
beside me, my right hand in his left, and we bowed together.

   Okay.  I was surprised.  It was better than I expected.  After the
orchestra rose and bowed, Key bounced out and hugged me and Stoney.

   Following our concert there's a reception where the orchestra gets to
mingle with the audience.  Or is it the other way around?  Anyway, food,
punch, lots of smiling, shaking hands, a few hugs and 'thank you' and
'you're very kind' and then you go home, right?

   That's the usual thing.  This time?  Wrong.

   For once it seemed like most of the audience was in the receiving line
to shake our hands.  The crowd was thinning though, when this middle-aged
blonde lady and her escort, a guy about Stoney's height and ten years
older, caught up with me and Stoney and Key.

   That's where we met the Hardestys, Jim and Ann.  Well, Key met them
first, introducing herself as my SISTER, which she is, you know, and she
introduced Stoney as 'my favorite white boy'.

   We accepted the effusive compliments graciously.  It was getting late
and I mentioned our need to go find dinner.  I didn't expect total
strangers to invite us out, but Jim and Ann did just that.

   We ended up at an Italian family restaurant that Stoney and I and Key
frequented, got greeted as special guests, had the expected great food and
we talked.

   I love telling the story of me and Stoney and I spilled a lot of it. 
That's when there was an eddy in the time-space continuum.

   Ann said to Jim, "Look at them.  It's like we've got another Dan and
Cindy on our hands." She must've read surprise on my face.  "They're an
unusual couple that we play music with.  He's an engineer and she's this
crazy smart little redheaded thing."

   "W-w-wait!" Stoney said.  "Dan and Cindy.  Engineer and young redhead?"

   "Show 'em the pictures on your phone, baby," Jim said.  "She's
something. Youngest kid I ever saw graduate from high school.  She's
running through..."

   "Auburn!" I blurted.

   Ann showed me her phone.  She looked at me.  "How do you know..."

   "You're talking about Dan and Cindy Richards.  We met them a couple of
weeks ago.  You're right.  She's something!"

   "I was her middle school guidance counselor," Jim said.  "They play
music ...  played music with us all the time.  She sings, sometimes with
our daughter.  The rest of us play."

   "They're coming down next week to fly us to Auburn for the weekend,"
Stoney said.

   Jim smiled at Ann.  "We were planning on getting together with them on
Saturday that weekend.  Sounds like fun."

   "He plays guitar.  I play banjo.  Jo plays flute.  What do you play?"
Stoney asked.

   "I play banjo too," Jim said.  "But I never tried what YOU just did."

   Stoney laughed.  "I never play it like I just did, just so you know. 
It's Jo's fault."

   "I play violin...  'fiddle' when I'm bluegrassin' with everybody." Ann
smiled at me.  "Jo, I was a solo violinist at one of these concerts.  I'm
an alumna."

   "Really?" I squealed.  "Bring your violin next weekend.  Please..."

   "She hasn't lost her touch," Jim said.  "Still has everything she had in
college.  If she hadn't married a Marine..."

   In retrospect, if they hadn't been on so tight a schedule, leaving early
the next morning for the long drive back to Alabama, I would have dragged
them to the apartment like we did Dan and Cindy.

   Instead, we did big happy good-byes in the parking lot of the
restaurant.

   We were driving Key back to her apartment.

   "You people gonna change my mind about white folks," Key chuckled. 
That's Key's sometimes shtick, that 'black-white' thing.  If she's racist,
I'm Katherine, Tsarina of All the Russias.

   "Be careful, Key," Stoney said.  "They're the worst kind.  From
Alabama."

   "I looked," she laughed.  "His neck wasn't red at all."

   We dropped Key off.

   "Stoney, something's awfully twisted in our universe."

   "How so?"

   "We just met two couples from Alabama two weeks apart and they KNOW each
other."

   So this is where Johanna Solheim Jackson, World Traveler (courtesy of
Dad's Army career) gets her first flight in a light plane because Cindy and
Dan are flying in from Alabama to bring us over for the weekend, then
flying us back.  Cindy's idea.  I get the impression that any Idea Cindy
has is just fine with her husband.

   I mentioned that thought to my dear mate.  "I can see how he might be
that way.  Redheads'll do it to you."

   "DO what?"

   "Oh, you have to admit, Jo, that you have special powers over me."

   I love it when he talks to me like this, like I'm magical.  I do it
right back, too.  We do that whole Valhalla thing and the Irish folklore
and he can be my warrior and I can be his faerie princess and we
disintegrate into cuddles and kisses and then it gets serious.

   It had to be safe, right?  Dan had his own private pixie, Cindy, and I
know he wouldn't risk anything dangerous with her.

   And the phone calls.  Cindy saw fit to call me to talk.

   "I'm curious, you know," she admitted.  "I'm in engineering, but I love
music.  So what's it like?  Majoring in music?"

   I explained to her that I'd been 'in music' since I was nine, about the
daily (almost) practices, the music tutors that Mom and Dad provided for me
a few times.  She sounded genuinely interested.

   "It's beautiful.  I'm a little bit jealous," she said.

   "Don't be, Cindy.  You have your voice.  It's great." She'd sung a
couple songs when we shared that evening, me, her, Stoney, Dan.  "And you
and Dan, you sing together like you're in love."

   Giggle.  "That's because we ARE in love."

   "How's that work?  I mean, you and Dan, you're more than twenty years
apart."

   "You and Stoney are ten years apart," she countered.  "Age isn't a
problem for US.  Other people have a problem with it.  And me being
fourteen when we married.  So many people thought that I was being
exploited and Dan was a child molester.  I guess some still do.  But I'm
the least exploited girl on the planet."

   "I have a hard time seeing you as exploited," I said.

   "Nikki went through it, too.  Tina, not so much," Cindy said.  She'd
called the whole crew in for a Skype session.  And Terri.  "The universal
little sister," Tina said.  "My evil stepchild."

   Cute bunch.  All of them.  And quick-witted.

   I wasn't surprised as much as Stoney was when that little plane taxied
up with Cindy at the controls.  She sat in the rear seat with me on the
flight back to Alabama and the four of us talked the whole way back to
Alabama.  That is, we talked while I marveled at the countryside passing a
mile below us.  It is a lot different than flying commercial at thirty-five
thousand feet.

   Landing in Alabama, driving over strange roads, ending up at the homes
of our new friends, meeting and touching the hands of people who'd before
only been faces and voices on a computer screen ...  virtual reality, my
foot!  Kissing somebody on their cheek for real, that's where it's at!

   Friday evening was a happy explosion of food and music and new friends
that felt like old friends.  We found out we had a 'sleeper' in the music
venue.  Sim Weisman, husband of Beck and father of Rachel, revealed the
heretofore unknown ability to play violin.  "Bashful," Beck said.  "I've
told him..."

   So we put together an impromptu ensemble with a guitar, a banjo, a flute
and a violin and ranged across the music landscape from classical to
bluegrass to Celtic to klezmer.  And tomorrow the Hardestys are coming in.
That's another violin and a second banjo.

   And that innocent-looking little blonde child came up to me and Stoney
and asked, "Are y'all going to move here with us?" And punctuated the
question with big, liquid blue eyes.

   In my heart, I was buckling.  It was like tasting a little bit of candy,
then having the whole box offered to you.  I knew I'd over-indulge if I
wasn't careful, but better sense prevailed.  I touched that precious face.
"Terri-dactyl," I said, "We'd love to, but we have commitments back in
Houston.  I have to finish college."

   Cindy'd whispered early in the evening, "Be careful.  Terri just might
be the smartest one of the bunch."

   'Forewarned is forearmed' was a 'Dad' statement.  I needed it.

   "You could finish college with us.  Ever'body's goin' here."

   The child is an absolute angel.  I couldn't help but brush a strand of
that short blonde coif back from her face.  "Terri, baby, I'm a semester
away from graduating where I'm at.  And it wouldn't be fair to the others
in the orchestra for me to leave right now."

   Rachel bumped her hip against her friend.  "'Course she's right, Terri.
She's an adult and she's one of us, you know."

   I glanced at Stoney, smiled.  In my head I was wondering what it was
really like to be 'one of us' when the 'us' was this marvelous community.

   Sim was sitting on the other side of Stoney.  "Watch out," he smiled. 
"Those two are synergistic.  Either one alone is formidable.  Together
they're..." his voice trailed off.  Then "So are the rest."

   "There's nothing like this that I know of on my campus," I said.

   "Oh, I'm sure that outside the engineering department and a few other
rather low-profile circles, this bunch is unknown, too.  But to us, they're
a super-nova."

   I giggled.  "I guess you're right.  I think I'm that way on campus when
it comes to music.  The music people know me.  A few thousand other
students would hear my name and say 'Huh?!?'"

   Stoney smiled.  He likes to hear me explain my thoughts.  "And on such
is civilization built," he said.

   I bent sideways and kissed him.  "I'm sure that these people already
have their own versions of the Sons of Martha speech." I forgot that Sim
wasn't an engineer.

   "Sons of Martha?" he asked.

   I put a finger to Stoney's lips, shushing him.  "Let me tell the short
version.  If Sim wishes..."

   "Rudyard Kipling," Cindy said.

   And the Sons of Mary smile and are blessed - they know the angels are on
their side.

   They know in them is the Grace confessed, and for them are the Mercies
multiplied.

   They sit at the Feet - they hear the Word - they see how truly the
Promise Runs:

   They have cast their burden upon the Lord, and - the Lord He lays it on
Martha's Sons.

   "It's a common reading at The Ritual of the Calling of an Engineer. 
About the people who make the world work."

   Sim looked amused.  "I thought Kipling was all about India and soldiers
and war."

   "Kipling is about the extraordinary Common Man, I think."

   Nikki grinned from the other side of the table.  "Cindy's our poet
laureate, at least until Terri gets to spinning up."

   "Cindy?" I asked.

   Cindy just smiled.  Nikki filled in some juicy details.  "Cindy's
English teacher last year sent some of Cindy's eighth grade writings up
here.  When they found out that Cindy was graduating, there was a good
little battle going between the language arts folks and the engineering
department over who'd get 'er."

   Cindy bowed her head towards Nikki.  "And they had the same argument
about you also, my little Cajun friend."

   "Polymath," I said.

   Cindy giggled.  "Yeah, I guess so."

   A bit before ten the party broke up and we went home with Cindy and Dan.

   "Well, what'd you think of the community?" Cindy asked.

   "It's a riot."

   "Almost overload," Stoney said.

   "It's not like this EVERY night," Dan said.  "A lot of this was because
you two were here.  Tomorrow's even worse.  We're getting Jim and Ann and
Teresa and Billy too.  Weather's not supposed to be real good.  We're
setting up in the front of the lab."

   "There's enough room?" Stoney asked.

   "There is since the university hauled off the railgun," Cindy said.  "I
miss it.  Smashing quarters lacks the subtle allure of lethality."

   Stoney snorted.  "Railgun.  What ever gave you that idea?"

   Cindy smiled.  "Tina and Susan did research papers on Tesla in high
school last year and we got to talking about deathrays.  We toyed with the
idea of lasers, but it's been done to death, and we just sort of figured
that a railgun was attainable with mostly off the shelf hardware."

   I was listening to this.  It's startling, really.  You see this cute
young girl, dressed conservatively, smiling, laughing, and you're thinking
how absolutely normal she is, and then you start finding out things like
married?  Okay.  Then the BRAIN comes out.  It's like finding out that your
microwave oven is actually a breeder reactor.

   She plopped down beside me.  "Johanna?  You don't mind if I call you
that?  I mean, I heard Stoney call you Johanna.  It might be a pet name."

   "You can call me Johanna if you wish.  It's a name that I am called by
people who love me."

   "Then I'm there, big sister," Cindy said.  "I'm jealous, though."

   "Whatever would you be jealous of?"

   "You play your flute.  Dan's doin' guitar.  Stoney's got a banjo.  All I
can do is sing."

   "And you do that beautifully, Cindy," I said.  "You and Dan..." They'd
done a version of Roll In My Sweet Baby's Arms that made ME jealous,
singing it like they were singing to each other.

   "Still," she said.  "You play and it's so beautiful.  Moving..."

   "Thank you.  But I've never built a railgun," I said.

   She giggled.  "Remind me to give you one of our quarters tomorrow."

   I have one of her quarters, a curiously shrunken thing, distorted by
high magnetic field.

   "You need to see about casting those things into acrylic blocks," Stoney
said.  "You could make money on the Internet with them."

   Cindy squealed.  "You know, that's an idea!  I think Nikki and I need to
build a website."

   "What have you just done, Jo?" Dan questioned.

   "I just turned your engineering house/research facility into an online
geek novelty shop."

   Dan chuckled.  "Worse things could happen."

   Cindy didn't let it drop, either.  "We'll be happy to feature your
music, you know.  Rara Avis has to start somewhere."

   Two full bathrooms meant two couples showering simultaneously and we all
emerged, pajama-clad, to enjoy a late-night mug of hot cocoa (Dan's recipe,
Cindy said.) and then went to bed.  Oh, yes, we made love.  I saw no reason
to miss it.  Stoney and I have a broad spectrum of activities, some of
which I absolutely cannot restrain myself from getting VERY vocal.  Stoney
still smiles about us howling at the moon on our first night together.

   Tonight, though, in each other's arms, happy from the day's adventures,
we gently teased each other, touching, kissing, until the final coupling
was completion for both of us.  And somebody had thoughtfully left a soft
towel on the nightstand beside the bed.  I wonder who, and what they were
thinking.

   At eight there was gentle knock on the door, followed by Cindy's voice.
"Hey, if you can drag yourselves out of bed, we'll go get breakfast up the
road."

   "Stoney, get up!  Breakfast!" I said, shoving the love of my life.  I
heard a giggle from the other side of the door.

   "I'm goin' to do that to Dan," she said.

   Fifteen minutes later we were in the living room.  Cindy smiled. 
"Apparently neither of us is that 'hour beauty regimen' type."

   "Neither of you needs it," Stoney said.

   I leaned over and kissed his cheek.  "Thank you, baby."

   Cindy smiled.  "Lemme get us a table set up for breakfast."

   "Who's going?" Dan asked.

   "Us.  Jo and Stoney.  Dan 2.0 and Nikki.  The Weismanns are doing family
breakfast.  So are Jason and Susan.  And Terri and Tina and Alan are
staying home." Cindy smiled at me.  "But we'll all be together for lunch.
And for the First Annual Three-State Classical Bluegrass JamFest."

   I laughed.  "We need T-shirts."

   "Next year!" Cindy said.  "If we live through this one."

   "Oh, little Cindy," I said, "I've gone to college parties until I
learned better.  This is nothin' but fun!"

   "I know," she smiled.  "Neat, isn't it!"

   We filed out to Dan's truck.  Stoney's getting better.  Cane.  My guy
had to get a cane.  He was going to get one of those practical aluminum
ones but I shamed him into a real wooden cane instead.  First thing in the
morning he doesn't use it, but if he's on that leg too much, the cane is a
help.

   I scooted into the back seat with Cindy.  "Stoney needs the legroom,"
she smiled.  "'Sides, back here I can do this..." her fingers traced the
back of her husband's neck causing him to shake visibly.

   "Careful, little girl child.  I will remember."

   "I'm hoping that you do," she smiled.  In a theatrical aside to me she
said "I LOVE payback!"

   Cindy LOOKS young.  Sometimes I have to make mental shift of gears to
remember that she's happily (obviously) married, with all that status might
entail.  And I ran my fingertips along Stoney's ear.

   "You're not immune, either, punkin," he said.

   "What makes you think I perceive that as a threat, guy?"

   "Good one!" Cindy giggled.

   We enjoyed a good breakfast and then got a drive-through tour of the
campus with Cindy doing the narration.  It's a very nice campus.

   "I'm the youngest one in the place," Cindy said.  "This year, anyway. 
And nobody remembers anyone younger.  Sometimes it hits me and I wonder
what in the world happened to me."

   "I bet," I said.  "I have trouble imagining myself in your shoes."

   "We're in two different arenas, Jo," she said.  "You were probably
there, musically."

   "Not even close," I said.  "I've been the First Flute every time the
orchestra or the band had more than one, but it's music.  That's a much
different arena."

   "It's Dan's fault, anyway," Cindy said.  "I'd be in the ninth grade..."

   "And that would be a massive waste on more than one level.  The love of
my life..." Dan interjected.

   "That too," Cindy giggled.  "You gotta be careful who you rescue..."

   Cindy got the phone call from the Hardesty bunch.  "We're giving Jo and
Stoney the Grand Tour," she said.  Pause.  "Uh-huh.  We're lovin' it.  You
shoulda heard last night!  And we have another violinist!" Pause.  "Sim. 
Mister Weismann.  He's bashful, but he's pretty good, too." Pause.  "Hurry!
It's gonna be a riot!"



   ------

   Chapter 34

   Stoney's turn:

   It actually WAS in Cindy's words, 'a riot'.  I never did 'band camp' or
anything like that when I was in high school.  They didn't have 'science
camp' and 'math camp' in my school district and I wasn't in band.  Jo told
me about her own experiences.

   "Wasn't anything like this," she said.

   Our trip home was as wondrous as the trip there.  I can definitely see
why Dan and Cindy (and everyone else in the bunch, apparently) would cling
to personal aviation as a transportation mode.

   "Wanna take the scenic route on the way home?" Dan asked.

   "Scenic route?" I questioned.

   "Yeah, we talked," Cindy chirped.  "If you want, we fly south, hit the
coast, then turn west.  Different scenery than four hundred miles of pine
trees."

   I looked at Jo.  She was smiling.

   "It'll add an hour and a half.  I know a good airport to do a pit stop.
Your call, though."

   I glanced at Jo again.  That's her 'I'm ready for an adventure' face. 
"Let's do it, then." I noted Cindy's expression.  Why did I interpret that
as the look of a successful recruiter?

   We left Auburn heading due south, hit the coast, Dan explaining to me
about the military traffic areas that we avoided and navigated, and we did
indeed turn right at the coast.  We didn't follow the coast entirely. 
Louisiana has that long appendage where the Mississippi River delta goes
way out into the Gulf of Mexico.  And once in Louisiana, Cindy pointed out
the heavy helicopter traffic shuttling people between onshore bases and
offshore platforms out in the Gulf.

   "Used to be that there was almost nothing further out that twenty or
thirty miles.  Now there's deep water drilling and some of those are waaay
out there," Dan said.

   "You've been out there?" I asked.

   "Oh, yeah ...  And may have to go again.  Lots of interesting and
lucrative consulting work out there."

   "And I can't go with him," Cindy pouted.

   Dan laughed.  "Not yet.  You have to be eighteen.  And they have enough
distractions out there without the idea of you bouncing around in a tight
pair of flame-retardant coveralls."

   Cindy smiled.  So did I, when I imagined Jo in a similar uniform.  With
a single looooong zipper.  Okay, Stoney.  Now make that erection go away.

   We flew along the Louisiana coast for a while then turned inland.  "Home
field," Dan said.

   "Hanna and Greg are going to both be there," Cindy chirped.  She was
texting on her iPhone as we flew.

   When we landed, we did indeed meet another couple, the airport operator
and his delightful wife, her German accent adding to an already surreal
trip.  We enjoyed surprisingly good coffee and donuts and conversation
before departing for the final leg of the trip.

   When we watched Cindy and Dan leave (with Cindy back in the pilot's seat
because 'I miss it!') I turned to Jo.  "Do you get the feeling that we've
just emerged from the Twilight Zone?"

   She slumped back into my arms.  "Something like that."

   We took a ride in the airfield operator's golfcart to shuttle our
baggage to the car.

   "Ask him," Jo elbowed me.  "You KNOW you want to."

   "Ask me what?" the guy said.

   "How does one go about learning to fly?" I caught him looking at my leg.
I'd straightened it to relieve a little pain.  "After I finish healing this
leg, of course."

   "Let's go back to the office," he said.

   In the car going home, Jo told me, "Stoney, you know you MUST go for
it."

   "What about YOU, my redheaded princess?"

   Giggle.  "You think I should?"

   "Look at the group we just left.  His and hers pilots all, except for
the Weismanns."

   "I'd be charmed, but are you sure it's something you want to do?"

   "Cindy does.  Did you see the look on her face when she climbed into the
pilot's seat while ago?"

   "Yeah, but that's Cindy.  I never saw her NOT smiling." I thought about
what I just said.  It was true.  But then my Johanna was much the same. 
Even her pensive moods had a hint of that smile that drew me to her the
first time I saw her.

   "Let's think about it," she said.  "You brought YOUR stuff into this
marriage.  I brought MY stuff.  This would be something that we start off
sharing together."

   "That's a very 'Johanna' way of looking at it," I said, "and therefore
perfect.  Is that all you come away with from this weekend?  Flying
lessons?"

   "You really want to get me started, guy?" she laughed.

   "So tell me."

   "Nuts!  Never in my fevered dreams did I expect what we just
experienced." She sighed.  "I ...  you ...  we had a blast, didn't we?"

   "Yes, it's a weekend that pegged my fun meter out."

   She smiled.  "And just so you know, the ONLY downer all weekend was
having to keep quiet with you licking me senseless."

   "You're not the only one, dearest," I said.  "You know what you do to
me. And slow down.  You're driving too fast."

   "Wanna get home and abuse you before we go to practice," she said.

   "I've already had my quota of car wrecks this year."

   "I'm being careful," she chuckled, "but I am definitely hurrying."

   We got to the apartment in due time.  We each grabbed a load of the
weekend's luggage.  I fumbled the key into the lock and let us in.

   "You just set that stuff there.  I'll get the rest of it in," she said.
"Ease your leg up for a bit."

   I did just that.  The recliner beckoned.  I sat and kicked the footrest
up.  A nagging twinge in my thigh eased up.  I closed my eyes for a minute,
opened them again when I heard the front door open and my Johanna bounce
through it.  She set the instrument cases down, smiling.

   "Are you relaxing in such a manner that I cannot find a spot in your
arms?"

   My heartbeat quickened.  "My arms await you."

   She gave her head a sassy shake, knowing that the move gets to me, and
she insinuated herself carefully into my lap.  It's good.  Jo fits into my
arms perfectly.  She turns her face to mine, presenting me with those clear
blue eyes, the outrageous red hair, the freckles and THAT smile.  I have to
count blessings in groups of ten to cover what this girl brings to my life.

   Her kiss brings me from reverie to reality.  "I love you, Stoney."

   "I love you right back, Johanna Elise."

   She wiggled to put her lips at my ear, nipped my earlobe, then worked
down my neck.  I started shaking.

   She giggled.  "Does that feel good, baby?"

   "God, yes."

   "Do you think we could move this into the bedroom?" she punctuated the
request with a searing kiss.

   I attacked her jawbone just in front of her ear in reply.  She squealed,
wiggling out of my grasp, and stood up.

   "Come on!" She extended her hand, pulling me up.

   My leg isn't quite up to skipping, but I tried ...  I followed her into
the bedroom only because I'm still a bit too restricted to chase her.  She
turned around to face me, unsnapping her jeans and sliding them down her
slender thighs.  I resisted the urge to just bowl her over backward because
I knew that after that move, we'd still have to get clothing out of the
way.

   I was struggling with a sock when SHE pushed ME over.  "I'll get that!"
Giggle.  "Or not!" as she wrapped her arms around my thighs, putting her
mouth at just the right level to...

   I gasped.  Sooooo good!  All my senses diverted to that one little bit
of anatomy.  I don't remember my socks coming off.  Next thing I know,
there's this delightful, happy face in front of mine, demanding to be
kissed.

   Familiarity.  Yes, we're very familiar with one another by now.  I know
every delicious inch of her body, the freckled shoulders, that dark mole on
the left cheek of her beautifully curved ass, where the hairline is on her
sparsely carpeted pubic mound, the fact that her areolae draw up in wrinkly
little almond shapes after a few nips and licks.  She knows me as well. 
That, folks, is not the beginnings of boredom.  It's pulling all the bits
of colored glass into a kaleidoscope so you can have a lifetime of happy
permutations.

   For the next hour were permutated each other into semiconscious bliss.
Noisy bliss, but bliss nonetheless.

   Soft giggle in my ear, accompanied by little kisses.  "I know we can be
quiet and restrained, Stoney, but you make me want to howl, you know."

   "I know.  I find myself wanting to make noise." Right now the noise I'm
making is a satisfied sigh with a little quiver as an aftershock swirls up
my flaccid shaft.  "Come here." I tugged her atop me.  She touched the tip
of her nose to mine.  I always wanted to be in love just like this.

   She pulled her face back.  "Just a few more minutes then we need to
shower and go grab dinner," she sighed.  "We have obligations."

   "YOU have obligations," I laughed.  "I have played in the only concert I
will ever play in my life."

   "Wrong, you!" she laughed.  "Rara Avis is going to have a winter
performance season.  Besides, you LIKE it, and you KNOW you like it."

   Guilty.

   Shower.  Soup and salad, as in "Let's do that new place that opened."

   The Monday night practice session was as expected.  The difference this
time, of course, was the questioning we got.

   Key: "They flew down here and hauled y'all off for the weekend, just
like that?"
Jo nodded, red hair bouncing.  "Yes yes.  What a strange and wonderful
way to travel!  We stayed in their guest room and it was music for the

whole weekend."

   I told them about TWO violins, two banjos, a guitar, a bass, a couple of
singers, and a happy audience.

   The normal bit of serious practice was interspersed with the laughter
and when we broke up, Key said, "Next week at your house so Mister Georg
and Mizz Betta can be with us."

   "Cuz they bring cookies," somebody interjected.

   Somebody else suggested that I get the recording equipment out next time
we did one of those big jam sessions.  That idea had occurred to me while
we were still in Alabama.  I needed to give Eddie a call.  I surmise that I
can get a set of gear that will fill our purposes.  I know I can set it up.
And Eddie probably has a handle on somebody who can do some editing.

   "We could record anything we wanted, give the raw files to an editor,
and see what comes out," I said.

   "That would be amazing.  There was so much this weekend that was good
enough to save.  Cindy and Teresa.  You and Dan.  Any of a dozen different
permutations," Jo replied.

   "Kind of like self-publishing," I countered.

   "Oh, Cindy told me that they'll e-commerce a site on their server. 
What's Nikki's friend's name?  Maddie?  She said she could handle the
volume of sales we think we'd get, you know, onesies and twosies.  And you
could tell people that your fall-back job is a professional music career."

   I laughed.  "I'll be sure and update my curriculum vitae on the company
website."

   "That's it, Stoney.  Make 'em jealous."

   "They're jealous ever since they first saw a picture of you, babe," I
said.

   "They're not, really," she smiled.

   "Those that aren't, should be.  They just lack an understanding of
theology and geometry in the universe.  I understand it, therefore YOU are
the perfection that brings harmony."

   "And you, sir, are wonderful in your own right," she teased.  "I love it
when you tell me things like that."

   Home.  Finally.  I was tired.  I think Jo was tired as well.  She had
school in the morning.  I only wish I was going to work, but the doctor was
adamant about another two weeks before he would release me.  In the
apartment we stowed the instruments and hit the shower.  There's absolutely
no urgency to it tonight.  We've had a great day, we've already spent time
in bed together, and a shared shower is just the way we choose to do this
function sometimes.

   Following the normal routine, we ended up cuddled in bed under the
covers, the room cool in a December cold spell.  That was a further
incentive for snuggling, like we need further incentive.  She fits inside
my encircling arms so perfectly.  Wiggles herself like she's molding
against me.

   And a soft giggle.  "Oops!  I woke it up."

   "Yes you did," I said.  "It'll go back to sleep in a bit if you stop
wiggling."

   For that comment, I got another wiggle and a kiss on my nose.  "To be
perfectly honest, Mister Stoney, I find that I am myself getting a bit
tingly."

   "Oh," I said.  "We could both be very still and that would stop."

   Giggle.  "Is that really what you think we should do?" Another teasing
little peck on my nose.

   My hand slipped inside the waistband of my pajamas.  MY pajamas?  Yeah.
She wears 'em sometimes.  What my hand finds in them tonight is a whole lot
more delightful when she wears them.  My fingertips swirled through her
sparse red pubic hair.  She purred.  Really purred, a throaty 'Mmmmmmm".

   I have my own version.  I used it when her fingers wrapped around my
hardness.

   One of the wonderful things about making love with my Johanna is that
the smile stays there.  The giggles stay there.  She doesn't have to go
into some sort of serious "I'm being sexy and seductive" fakery.  She
brings joy and wonder and enthusiasm and lust and tosses all of them at me
at once.

   Tonight was no urgency.  Tonight was simply love and pleasure.

   Finished, she reached into the bedside nightstand.  "Last towel, love.
We need to do laundry."

   "I'll get that tomorrow."

   She toweled the milky liquid leaking from her, then bent over and sucked
my flaccid member.  Her head popped up.  She made a little show of licking
her lips.  "There!  Now you're clean, too!"

   I cuddled her back into my arms.

   "Now, wasn't that a lot better than trying to lie still and hoping those
feelings would go away?"

   "You're right, little one," I said.

   "'Course I'm right!" Kiss.  Wiggle in my arms.  Off to sleep.

   Alarm at 0730.  Breakfast, this time fruit and cereal.  And ambrosia. 
Nectar of the gods.  Some people call it coffee.  Jo was in one of her
books.  End of the semester.  Finals.

   "Not a problem, just passing," she said.  "But I want the grade.  Want
that 4.0."

   I smiled.  My baby had that goal when I first met her.  She hadn't
slacked up.  "It would be sooo easy," she said one evening after a
particularly happy coupling.  "I, like, have THIS new means of
entertainment." Such a statement leads to more happy moments, you know.

   Later, "You, sir, are quite the distraction."

   "I'm happy you're getting distracted," I mused.

   She lounged back in my arms.  "Ahhhh, Stoney ...  All my life I wondered
what it was about, this 'love' thing.  I guess I just had too high a
threshold.  All the other girls were falling into and out of love
continuously.  I tried getting excited about it, but nobody fit what I
wanted.  Now there's us.  And you know, it's just not a mystery any more."

   I stood at the door this morning and kissed my muse goodbye when she
headed off to campus.  Since this occurred on the front step of our
apartment, I turned and noticed Mr.  Hlinka standing on his own step next
door.  "Good morning, Mister Hlinka," I said, waving.

   "Goot morning to you as well, Mister Jackson.  Would you have time for
coffee with us?"

   "I would be delighted.  Johanna has just gone off to class.  Let me get
my keys."

   Mr.  Hlinka held the door open for me when I met him on his steps. 
"Betta has taken the auto to the farmers' market.  We enjoy the fresh
vegetables.  Shopping at the market is a memory of the Old Country."

   "I remember those from Germany," I said.

   "Ah, yes, young American soldier.  Is not unusual that you should see
that portion of Europe."

   We sat and talked and sipped coffee along with one of his wife's little
pastry creations.

   "Your new wife, your new friends, they bring life to us, young Stoney,"
Georg said.

   "Yes, friend," I said.  "She has certainly brought me life."

   "Such a girl is what a young man needs," he smiled, his old grey eyes
twinkling.  "I have been privileged to have received a similar blessing."

   "I can see it in the way you look at Mizz Betta," I said.  When the
words left my mouth, the thought crossed my mind.  Georg and Betta.  Anders
and Bridgette.  My own mom and dad.  In this day of crippled relationships
and transitory 'love', there is still a 'right' way.  It's out there.  You
have to know to ask.  And I guess, be willing to work for it.

   "Ah, yes, my Betta," he smiled.  His eyes focused far away through the
years, I imagined.  "She was quite the beauty in her youth, to all that met
her.  Now, all the years have passed and she still is the beauty.  If it is
in here..." his wrinkled index finger tapped his temple, "then it is also
in here..." he said, tapping his chest, "and if in there, then the eyes
still see.  The room still gets brighter when she enters." He smiled.  At
me, he smiled.

   "When we came to America, Betta was nurse.  I was chemist.  Sometimes we
did very poorly but we got by because there are ways of being rich that
don't involve numbers on paper.  Only thing I regret is no son.  No
children.  So I tell you this, young Jackson, as my own son."

   I knew I was being presented a gift.  "Sir.  Mister Georg.  I receive it
as your son.  And your friend."

   "You just remember that you have a pretty young lady for wife."

   "I do, sir.  And you know, the pretty is on the inside as well."

   He smiled.  "You understand, then."

   "I hope so.  I wasn't searching when I found Johanna.  And she found
me."

   "I and Betta." He smiled, letting the years slip away from his memories.
"University.  We didn't do social things like I see you Americans do. 
Groups.  Hers.  Mine.  Music was the cross-over.  We found ourselves in the
same places and we smiled at the same things and we were like the moon
orbiting the Earth, predictably together.  One day we decided it was to be.
A month later we were together trying to cross the border.  We married in
Austria, before we determined to come to America."

   "Quite a story," I said.

   "It has been.  We struggled.  Our university educations in Prague were
suspect here.  We overcame many obstacles.  We have had a good life." He
smiled again.  "In a new country, where even the weather is alien, times
came where the only constant, the only anchor we had was each other.  You
and your Johanna, though, you have your friends, just as I and Betta had
long ago in Prague.  I smile when I see you."

   When I finally left for my own apartment, my head was filled with
pictures of someone who'd uprooted himself from one hemisphere and landed
in another and survived and thrived because he shared the adventure with
his lifemate.

   My own lifemate had two classes with finals today, one from mid-morning
to near noon and one from early to mid-afternoon.  The least I could do was
make sure that I had a meal prepared for her.  Since the weather was
deteriorating fast into a drizzly, drippy, chilly mess, I made us a soup.
And a loaf of home-made bread.  Something about kneading a loaf of bread
that is almost Zen.  Fifteen minutes of kneading earned me a respite in the
recliner.  Leg still twinges, but I'm crutch or cane-free around the house
and for short distances elsewhere.

   Soup simmering and bread in the oven, it was time to entertain myself.
Nope, no porn.  I picked up my phone.

   "3Sigma Engineering.  This is Maddie.  Can I help you?"

   "Maddie, this is Stoney..."

   Squeal!  "Hi, Stoney!  Are y'all coming back soon?"

   "I dunno.  We'll see," I said.

   "Oh," she said dejectedly.  "That was so much fun!"

   "We had a blast, too," I replied.  "What's going on around the office?"

   "Everybody's out except Dan 2.0 and Nikki."

   "Is Dan too busy to talk?"

   "Oh, he'll talk to YOU," she said.

   I ended up spending a pleasant bit of time on the phone with both Dan
and Nikki.  Call it my engineering fix.

   Cellphone rang at 2:30.  Rang?  No, actually it played a flute passage.
My Jo.

   "Hi, cutie," I answered.

   "Hey, baby.  I need pampering."

   "Come home.  Sombody here needs to pamper you."

   "Did you do the posole?"

   "Yes.  And home-made bread."

   "Mmmmmm," she said.

   "Was the exam that hard?"

   "No, I guess not really.  I know I passed.  I know I did pretty good. 
But I wanted to excel."

   "You probably did, baby," I soothed.

   "I hope so.  I'm getting into traffic.  See you in a bit.  And no
company, no visits, we don't need to leave the house.  I need major,
energetic soothing."

   "Gotcha covered, darlin'," I said.

   "I love you.  Bye!"

   I was folding laundry when the door opened.  She tossed her backpack on
the chair and shoved herself into my arms.  Laundry can wait.  We kissed
and moved to the recliner.  She pressed herself against me like she was
drawing energy.  I just held her, stroking her hair with one hand."Tough
day?" I asked.

   "Yeah ...  no ...  just need to be held." Holding morphed into nibbles
on my ear.  I squirmed with the pleasure.  She giggled.  "That helps."

   "Nibbling my ear?"

   "Making you feel good."

   "You've certainly accomplished that."

   Her agile heinie wiggled in my lap.  "I can tell." Kiss.  "How about
dinner with a glass of wine and then a romp?"

   "Okay."

   Kiss.  "Then a shower and another romp?" Giggle.

   Over dinner Jo explained to me the travails of her day's exams.  "Sounds
more to me like you had it under control."

   "I did.  Performance anxiety, I guess," she said.  "Things that should
be almost natural after the semester is over, but I put myself through the
stress."

   "You didn't want to settle for less than perfection." I looked at the
face before me.  "I didn't."

   "You, sir, are a silver-tongued devil."

   "And you, my dear, are a lady worthy of all I will ever be, and then
some."



   ------

   Chapter 35

   Johanna's Turn:

   I walked out of the classroom with a definite spring in my step.  I had
several reasons to bounce, you know.  Let's see.  That test paper I laid on
the GA's desk was, to the best of my knowledge, close to perfect.  Stoney
was home waiting on me.  The semester was almost over and for the first
time in my life I was not packing up to go spend winter break with Mom and
Dad.

   The test.  How ironic that I was testing at the end of a class on the
history of Europe since 1945.  I smiled at the thought of the class scope
and the fact that I had a little window on some living history when Georg
and Betta submitted to questioning about a view of communist-run
Czechoslovakia and eye-witness reports of Prague Spring.  The smile
vanished quickly when I remembered the sad expressions as they recounted
the oppression, friends disappearing into secret police vans, some to never
be heard of again.

   Stoney.  My Stoney.  Walking almost as well as he was before the
accident.  This Friday he's making what he hopes is a final trip to the
doctor before going back to work.  At this stage in our life together, I am
actually going to miss having him there when I get home during the day.  I
giggle to myself.  Key's gonna miss him too.

   "Jo, if that boy hadn't just fallen right into your lap like he did, uh
...  he's a keeper."

   "I don't have to worry about you two, do I?" After all, he was there
home alone with Key helping him out.  At first he was pretty much
bed-bound, but even after he got a bit more mobile, she still came over
when I was in class and she wasn't."

   "No you don't.  First place, he's all into you.  I think I coulda tossed
my naked butt on his lap and not even gotten a rise out of 'im.  He's into
YOU.  I think he's waited his whole life for you.  But if he wasn't married
to you and he acted just a little bit interested..."

   "That would freak out your mom and dad."

   "It'd prob'ly kill Grammaw," she said.  "But he might be worth the
risk."

   "You have Hutch."

   Key's smile dazzles.  "Yeah, I do.  But Stoney came along before Hutch
and I got serious.  Just sayin'."

   "And you're telling me all this, just why?"

   "'Cuz you got a good one, girl.  I know guys who won't wait until their
wives or girlfriends get out of sight before they're hittin' on women. 
Stoney?  Ain't one a'them."

   And I know that he's been having morning coffee with Mister Georg while
Mizz Betta goes to the market.  Lots of people are going to miss Stoney
when he goes back to work.

   And this year Mom and Dad will come to town to visit with me and my
husband for Christmas.

   "Of course we don't mind, Johanna," Dad told me.  "Your mom and I have
done Christmases all over the globe.  Our Christmas tradition is not rooted
in a geographic location."

   I remembered a lot of those, overseas, when Dad was in the army.  The
embassy duty was one thing.  The garrison duty was another, and I remember
our home filled with other soldiers and soldiers' wives as Mom and Dad took
care of his men.

   "Are you sure you don't mind?" I asked.  "Stoney and I could come up
there."

   "No.  Your mother and I discussed this at length.  December is a slow
time for business and we shall take a tiny vacation.  My daughter and her
husband provide a stop."

   "Then I shall prepare Christmas dinner," I said.

   "And you sadly underestimate my control over your mother if you think
that I can restrain her from helping."

   "Ever since I was a little girl I have wanted to prepare Christmas
dinner for my family.  It's time.  And Mom should be here.Thank you,
Daddy," I said.  He knows that 'Daddy' is used to establish my status as
his little girl, even though he recognizes me as a young adult who has made
good choices in life.

   So I'm driving home to a life that's almost a fairy tale.  I walk into
the house to find Stoney with the vacuum cleaner.  My nostrils flare. 
"Potpourri?"

   He shut the vacuum down.  "What?"

   "Do I smell potpourri?"

   "Yes.  One of those bags we bought at that street market.  Thought you'd
enjoy the effect."

   "You're so awfully domestic."

   "I am easily house-broken.  How'd the test go?"

   "Great.  I think I did it.  4.0."

   "I didn't marry a dummy," he smiled.  "What'd'ya wanna do for
celebration?"

   "Short-range?  That soup and salad place for dinner.  Mid-range?  Pack
up some stuff and spend the weekend on the boat."

   "Baby," he said.  "I checked the weather.  It's supposed to be miserable
Friday and Saturday.  Overcast, blustery, rainy."

   "I have Norwegian blood in my veins, Stoney.  Overcast skies and a boat
make me want to go pillage a monastery.  I'll settle for abusing your Saxon
butt all weekend."

   He laughed.  "That's the most charming threat I've ever received.  You
really like going off on the boat for the weekend?"

   "Yes I do, guy.  Sometimes I want isolation.  Just me and you.  You'll
be back at work Monday, I suppose, so we'll get us a weekend." I thought
for a second.  "Uh, how're we sitting on propane.  Do we have enough for
the weekend?"

   "I'll call Gary and get him to check, make sure we have a full bottle
for the weekend."

   We spent a little time going over a menu: Friday dinner, three meals for
Saturday, breakfast and a snackish lunch for Sunday.  Wasn't too critical.
A few miles out in the bay, swinging at anchor is a lot different than what
I'm thinking of packing for a longer trip, maybe up or down the coast. 
From the Gulf outlet of the bay, it was a long way to an open-water
destination.  Most sailors, Stoney tells me, just hop up and down the
coast.

   We're talking about it, but honestly, it's just talk.  I have another,
final semester of college.  Stoney's got work.  Any serious sailing would
need a few weeks to really get anywhere.  But we're talking.  Next summer's
probably out of the discussion.  Hurricane season starts in June and things
can go bad in the Gulf in a matter of hours.  Besides, in the summertime,
the heat in the South is oppressive.  We'll see where things are, come next
fall.

   "You're doing it again, redhead," he says.

   "Oh, just thinking about me getting done with college and what happens
after that.  I think of our boat and I dream..."

   "We've talked," he said.

   "I know ...  We can become itinerant musicians.  Not like we're gonna
starve."

   "I've thought about engineering.  The company may keep me on a list to
call when they have overflow work.  I know a couple of guys who're doing
that," he said.

   "Yes, baby.  But aside from Brad, there's not a lot of social attachment
here.  I'm thinking 3Sigma.  They'd probably put up with our flighty
schedule."

   "Especially if we show up every now and then for social purposes."

   "I get the feeling that they'd like that," I said.  "I still think about
that bunch." I caught the look in his eye.  "Honestly, if they weren't a
hundred and fifty miles from anywhere we could put our boat..."

   "We can stay right here," I said.  "Maybe not in this apartment, but
within driving distance.  I like the colleges and the music scene.  We can
use the network here to get ourselves involved with them.  I'll have a
place to play, and so will you.  Music and engineering both."

   "We do what we want..." he started.

   "As long as it puts Jo right next to Stoney," I stated.

   "I wouldn't have it any other way," he said.  "That's what I mean."

   "We do a couple of years of Jo and Stoney, then we determine when to
bring our much-anticipated progeny forth."

   "Thereby insuring that your mother has her dream fulfilled," he laughed.

   "And making me hope that we can do as well as Mom and Dad."

   "While they're spoiling the kid silly."

   "Doting, baby.  They'll be doting grandparents."

   "I hope the kid gets your red hair," he smiled warmly.  "Blue eyes ought
to be a given."

   I giggled.  "Of course, Key said you and she would have those exotic
mocha-colored kids."

   "Stop it!" he laughed.

   "Ooo-oh," I picked.  "Talking about Key is getting to you?"

   He's a whole lot less crippled than he used to be because he pinned me
to the sofa and kissed me though the tickles.

   "Oh, sure, use ME as a surrogate!" I squealed between laughing fits.

   Afterward, lying across the bed, breathless, I sighed, "Well, that
answered the question of what to do until dinnertime."

   "Yeah, I found that quite entertaining," he smiled, his hand wandering.

   "I'm getting a chill.  Cover me up," I said.

   He tossed the covers over the two of us and pulled me against him.  I
didn't fight that, not a bit.  I backed against him, letting him spoon me
and nuzzle the back of my neck.  Savor, dammit, Jo!  Savor!

   I know of dozens of conversations about sex where the girl complained
about lack of, not foreplay, but afterplay.  Stoney never fails. 
Afterward, he's got me and even if it IS late at night and we know we're
going to sleep, I go to sleep in his arms.

   But that's not right now.  We enjoy a few minutes and then ease out of
bed, getting dressed.  While he's tossing things in a pot for dinner, I'm
in the living room with my flute, working through practice.  Early on I'd
tried to get him to let me help in the kitchen.

   "No," he'd said.  "Unless you think I'm that bad a cook, you practice
while I get things together."

   Now, after he has the thing in the oven, he joins me in practicing.  He
notices me eyeing the clock.  "What are you watching the clock for?"

   "Sir, it's a cold and nasty night, and I think that after we bathe, we
should curl up on the sofa and watch a movie.  It's on at eight."

   "Yes, ma'am," he said.

   I won't bore you with too much of this.  I do want you to understand
that Stoney and I were finding a balance in the merging of our lives
together.  Weekdays?  Like this one, or maybe dinner out, but not too
often. I wasn't raised to be profligate and neither was Stoney.  Usually if
we ate out, it was because we were meeting friends, often Key and Hutch,
for dinner.

   Weekend on the boat?  Our own nautical version of the cabin in the
woods. No matter that the wind was out of the north at forty degrees and
twenty knots, the anchor held us in place and the little heater made the
cabin cozy and we learned that we can be perfectly happy together each with
a book, with music playing on the stereo, lying together in that master
berth.  Alone together.

   "I don't want you to think I'm ignoring you," he said.

   Giggle.  "I know perfectly well that you're not ignoring me,
sweetheart," I said, twisting to kiss his nose.  "I'm not ignoring you
either, you know."

   "Well, some people would call this rather strange."

   "Stoney, Stoney, Stoney," I said.  "Those people would not have pushed
you into a weekend on the boat in the middle of the bay in winter.  Did you
honestly think I didn't know that I wouldn't be lounging on the foredeck in
my bikini sipping mai-tais?"

   "But we're both reading..."

   "And we're half an hour past indescribably great love-making and we've
got great music playing and I strongly suspect that if I wanted to do
something other than read I know that I could grab my flute and play music
or I could grab THIS..." I nuzzled his cheek while my hand fondled him. 
"And we'd be off to the races again."

   "So you're okay with this?"

   "I am ecstatic with this.  We can be together like this and I know that
you love me and I love you and we can live together without either of us
thinking that we have to entertain the other."

   "Is it too soon to tell you how much I adore you again?"

   "No, baby," I said.  I kissed him.  "Two months of marriage.  I think
we're doing pretty well.  We still adore each other."

   He smiled, the dimple on his left side interrupted by that scar.  "I
wish you could see inside my head, little one," he said.

   "I can, you know.  I know I'm in there." I kissed him and l settled back
into my pillow, my iPad displaying yet another book.  He did the same, but
soon laid his down on his stomach.

   "Flat," he said.  "I guess I really am ruined towards military fiction."

   "Your experiences exceed somebody else's imagination," I said.

   "I'm pretty good until they get to details.  Gory details sort of lose
me."

   "Dad read histories," I said.  "Personal accounts, you know, of
individuals, and then the 'big picture' works.  Said the same thing as you
did about fiction.  Said being there sort of took the shine off some of the
fiction.  I guess I'd be that way about stories concerning enthusiastic
flutists."

   "You're happily, joyously, indescribably nuts, you know?" he said.  "You
know how to head off a bad thought."

   Okay.  Yes, that IS a good thing to know.

   As he climbed over me, he kissed me.  "Time to go stir the beans."

   Navy bean soup on the stove.  Snacks for lunch.  Savory, delicious,
warming soup for dinner.

   He pulled a pair of warm-up pants on, then a sweatshirt, and made the
short trip to the galley.  I heard the pot lid rattle as I eased out of bed
myself.  He turned to see me dressing.

   "You have something in mind?"

   "What's it look like topside?" I asked.

   "Don't hear the rain any more.  Lemme stick my head out." He mounted the
ladder to the cockpit, cracked the hatch.  "Still nasty-looking, but the
scud's heading south.  Might be clear by dark."

   "But cold."

   "Yeah," he answered.  "Cold."

   "But not too cold," I giggled.  "We could pop up in the dark for a
moonlight tryst."

   "I dunno, at least a naked hug.  Temperature's dropping pretty fast."

   "As long as it's not raining, we ARE going to do a naked outdoor hug. 
It has become who we are." I knew it.  I suspect that Stoney knows it as
well.  Yes, I surmise that on one level it's a silly thing, but on another
level it is one of those seminal (HAH!  'Seminal'!  Indeed it was, as I
remember.) moments in our relationship.  If I could stand naked before
Stoney in the light of the moon then standing with him through life rather
loses scale, doesn't it?

   I think that's some of the thought behind the Old Ways.  Maybe I should
have looked into some of those classes.  Sometimes there's more to the
world than the things that can be described by formulas and contemporary
thoughts.

   I shook my head, bringing myself back to the tiny world that existed in
the cabin of our boat.  I saw him gazing at me.

   "Are you back?" he questioned.

   "Of course.  Why?"

   "You accuse me of that, just leaving on the wings of a thought."

   "You DO, you know.  I've seen it.  But most of the time you're going
back to a place where there were bad things in your past."

   "And where was Johanna Elise?"

   "Soaring among the stars on the wings of everlasting love," I said. 
Giggle.  "Well, actually I didn't get past two naked bodies in the
moonlight."

   "Get your flute, lady.  Let us limber up our music."

   Yes, it's OUR music.  Some of it's played on instruments.  Some of it is
scintillations among the stars.  I told Mom a phrase like that once, about
me and Stoney.

   "Jo, you are well to regard the two of you with poetry.  Remember these
thoughts because there are days when things are strained and dreary."

   "Mother, I cannot imagine a dreary day with Stoney."

   "I thought the same with your father," Mom said.  "Believe me, though,
they will happen.  Remember that this man has brought the elements of magic
to your thoughts."

   I looked at some of that magic at work as he pulled his banjo out of the
locker and sat down on the cabin settee, plunking a little bluegrass melody
as he sang You Are My Sunshine.

   I put the flute to my lips.  He stopped, let me have the first note, and
we dove in together.  Just another happy way that our lives fit together.

   Frankly I was a bit sad when we dropped the sail and started motoring up
the channel to our slip on Sunday.  A reverie was over.  No, not just the
weekend.  I mean that Friday's visit to the doctor got Stoney a release to
return to work.  I'm glad he's healing so well, but I was getting awfully
used to coming home at any hour during the day and finding him there in the
apartment.

   His new SUV was sitting in the parking garage waiting.  We'd shopped
together.  My little college car is still plenty good for me for the
present, actually for the foreseeable future, but we needed an SUV to haul
stuff back and forth to the boat, so that's what we got.  Tomorrow he
drives it to work.

   We were shuttling things off the boat and into that new SUV when my
iPhone played an oboe solo.

   "Key," Stoney said.

   "Hello, sister," I answered.

   "You finished with your excursion this weekend?" she questioned.

   "We're loading the car right now," I said.  "Yes, we're finished."

   "Are you all worn out and you need to recuperate or are you in for
dinner with me an' Hutch?"

   "Just a second," I said.  Turned to Stoney.  "Are you up for dinner with
your second choice and the guy she replaced you with?"

   The squeal coming from my phone as she parsed that statement was audible
even without the phone at my ear.

   "We can do that," Stoney said.

   "He says we can do it," I told Key.

   "I can't believe you talk to him like that," she squealed.  "I thought
we had secrets."

   "We do.  Stoney adores you just a tiny bit less than me, is all."

   "Well, since you're being all forward and all, Hutch and I had lunch
with Mom and Dad..."

   I caught the tone.  Suppressed a squeal.  "Annnddddd..."

   "We told 'em.  June wedding."

   Okay, Jo, now you can squeal.  I did.

   Stoney turned.  He knows my happy noises.  "DO I take it that the
inevitable has happened?"

   "Yes," I replied, holding the phone so that Key was insured of not
missing a word.  "Key, rebounding from unrequited love, has bounced into
the arms of Hutch.  They've announced their nuptials in June."

   "Oh, well," Stoney laughed.  "Tell 'er congratulations on her choice."

   Key was in my ear.  "Johanna Elise, don't be startin' that stuff about
me an' Stoney in front of Hutch, you hear?"

   I giggled.  "Never.  Girl, I'm happy for you."

   "Like I was happy for you, white child," Key said happily.  "Is Italian
good for dinner?"

   "Lovely," I said.  "Regular place?"

   "Arnaldo's," she said.  "Five-thirty."

   "We'll be there," I said.

   "Bye.  An' go console Stoney," she laughed.

   "We've just about consoled each other out for the weekend.  Seeya at
five thirty."

   Stoney and I secured the boat and I took the passenger seat in the car
for the drive home.

   "There goes your fall-back," I picked.

   "I am saddened," he feigned.  "She was musical, too.  Most music anybody
before her ever did was bad Madonna impressions."

   "Meeting me has elevated you," I said self-certainly.

   "I will never deny that, my princess."

   He was smiling.  "Really is good news.  Hutch and I have talked.  The
guy's not faking it.  He's a good one.  At least he didn't change his act
when you and she left the table."

   "That's what Key says.  A full-time adult."

   We hauled our weekend's artifacts from the car to the apartment and
started breaking things down, a pile of laundry being the main thing.  We
do 'domestic' pretty good together.

   Dinner was a happy affair.  I'm a college girl.  I've been to some sad
ones where one of my friends saw somebody leave her life when she thought a
relationship was more than he apparently did.  Now I see my Key-buddy, my
dusky sister, sitting there with her fingers interlocked with Hutch, new
engagement ring prominently displayed on her hand.

   Stoney and Hutch did a manly hand-shaking thing that morphed into a
man-hug complete with the appropriate back-slaps.

   The meal was accompanied by happy conversation, promises that we would
be there for the wedding.

   Let Key drop the Stoney bomb.  "Y'all gotta come.  Momma needs to see
who my second choice was."

   Stoney aspirated a sip of wine and had a coughing fit with Hutch
laughing at him.  He recovered enough to blurt to Hutch, "You've heard,
then?"

   "Oh, yeah," Hutch laughed.  "You think my smart-ass girlfriend can keep
THAT secret?"

   "Jo?" Stoney queried.

   "I didn't think she'd tell 'im.  Really." But I was smiling.



   ------

   Chapter 36

   Still Johanna:

   Semester's over.  Christmas break.  And this was new.  Ever since I
started school, Christmas break was with Mom and Dad, even in college. 
Well, this year, people, it's different.  Little Johanna Elise Solheim is
now Mrs.  Randall Jackson and with that status comes a whole new life. 
Christmas dinner.

   "Do you think we can manage something close to a Christmas dinner,
Stoney?"

   He smiled.  "Yeah, I think we can do that, in a restrained fashion."

   "Turkey.  Little one.  With dressing.  Those mashed potatoes you do.  I
like 'em.  Mom and Dad will.  Something vegetably.  Something saladish. 
And a pie or two.  We both do it.  I take the credit," I giggled.

   "I'll let you," he said.

   A tree.  "Real tree," I said.  "Did you do one last year?"

   My Stoney shook his head in the negative.  "No.  Not just for me."

   "It doesn't have to be a big tree, but can we?" Why is it that THIS guy
makes me wanna go all Normal Rockwell or Currier and Ives?

   My guy smiled.  "Little Christmas tree it is..."

   So here's my little home, complete with husband and Christmas tree and
somebody donated a cookbook so the air one evening was filled with the
sweet spicy aroma of gingerbread.  Of course, the gingerbread was
constructed by my husband as I serenaded him on my flute.

   The counterpoint to that one day is me making cornbread while he played
banjo.  "Cornbread and banjo music go together," he told me.

   "But we're having it with red beans and rice.  That's a Louisiana thing.
Shouldn't you be playing the accordion?"

   "All I got's a banjo.  You get a banjo."

   Giggle.  "No, I got a Stoney.  He happens to have a banjo." While the
cornbread was baking we played duets.  That's life now.  Duets.  Sure,
we're both perfectly capable of solos, but duets are where the real action
is.  I voiced that opinion to Stoney.

   "Uh, redhead, somebody could take that very much wrong."

   I smiled.  "Those people can take it any way they want to take it.  It's
true in so many ways."

   "Well, I don't mind solo banjo, and solo reading, and solo bathing, but
there's one thing that I just don't think I'll ever resort to a solo
again."

   Okay, Jo.  Put the flute down.  Go attack Stoney.

   Stoney likes being attacked.  Attacks right back.  The battle is epic.
We both end up dead.  But that wasn't while I had cornbread in the oven.

   One of these days I'm gonna get off the Pill and I'll have something
else in the oven.  We've talked.  We want at least one child, maybe two. 
Stoney wants one like me and I want one like him and Mom says she doesn't
care, either or both would be just fine but the line of Solheim should go
on, even if the name ends with me.  In the meantime, Stoney and I have a
lot of fun practicing.

   Practicing?  Oh, we're dead serious about it, lovemaking, I mean.  It's
like a lot of music: infinite variations on themes.  I never imagined that
I'm this interested in the male physique.  I, after listening to my
classmates, had determined that I could manage passable enthusiasm.  I
didn't count on being in love with Stoney and the fire that flew when we
kissed and touched.

   Now it's something I daydream about.  And get all warm and sticky and
then when I get home I sometimes wonder what Stoney thinks I'm doing when I
grab his hand and pull him towards the bedroom.  Or the living room.  Or
the kitchen.  Or the laundry room.

   He doesn't complain, though.

   Phone call.  Not a number I recognize.  "Hi!  This Johanna!"

   Soft, young female voice.  "I have this number for Rara Avis.  Am I
correct?"

   "Yes, you are.  What can I do for you?"

   "Did I say it right?"

   "You did."

   "You're here in the city?"

   "Yes, ma'am."

   "How busy is your schedule?  Would a one-week notice be too short?"

   "Excuse me, but may I ask who you are?"

   Little squeal.  "Sorry.  I don't do this.  I saw you and Stoney at the
last concert for the university orchestra.  And somebody told me about Rara
Avis.  They did say you might have been just kidding." She took a deep
breath.  "I'm Kara Sevinsky.  I study music.  High school.  A bunch of us
are sort of serious about it."

   "And what is it that you'd like to do?  I mean, you called..."

   "We'd like to know how much to get you to play for a couple of hours..."

   "Wait a second," I said.  "You're with a bunch of high school musicians
and you want us to play for you.  And you want to know what that costs?"

   "Yes, ma'am."

   "Please don't call me 'ma'am', Kara.  I'm your age, almost."

   "Sorry if I bothered you.  I thought it might be a stretch.  Calling, I
mean."

   "You haven't bothered me, Kara.  I'm sort of intrigued.  You wanted me
and Stoney to play?"

   "Yes.  I thought it was spectacular, the way you two interacted, that he
could play Mozart on a banjo and that you just sort of melded with him. 
Our group is interested in what else you two may do with music."

   "How many of your group were there?"

   "Me and three others."

   "Where would you be asking us to perform?"

   "You'd have to tell us what size of a venue you require," Kara said. 
"We will provide it."

   "You ...  How were you planning on paying for this?"

   "Dad and Mom owe me a Christmas present.  I turned down a new car.  They
can afford it."

   "Wow!" I squeaked.

   "Dad's a pretty significant trial lawyer," Kara said.  "You might've
heard of him." She said a name.

   Yes, I know the name.  And there's a face to go with it, because he does
TV and billboard advertisements.  Stoney and I were watching TV one night
when one of those commercials came on.

   "You know why lawyers always wear ties?" Stoney asked me.

   "No," I said.  Sometimes I'm soooo innocent.

   "To keep the foreskins from sliding up over their faces."

   Snorted cocoa through my nose.  "Stoney!  Really!"

   I'd feel a whole lot worse about making that joke if you weren't trying
to stifle a giggle," he said.

   Okay, so Kara is THAT lawyer's daughter.  Sins of the father, and all
that.  She sounds nice, so we'll see where it goes.

   "I've heard of him, Kara," I said.  "But I wasn't thinking about
charging for this.  Why don't we just get together and play?  Do you ... 
where do you and your friends meet?"

   "My house or Linnie's house.  She's, like, on the same block.  We both
have BIG rec rooms."

   "I need to talk to Stoney." I paused.  "Would you be interested in
having an oboist, too?"

   "That black girl?  She was standing with you after the concert?"

   "Yeah.  Key!  Keshia, actually.  She might want to come along."

   "Cool!" Kara said.

   "Are you all serious musicians?" I questioned.

   "We're in high school, but yes, I am and I think you could say the rest
of us are.  This is sort of exploration."

   "Well, let me run it past Stoney, okay?"

   "Okay.  Can I call you back tomorrow?  And if he's okay, we can talk
about when and where."

   "'Kay, Kara," I said.

   "Oh, thank you, Johanna," she said.  "Bye."

   I was mulling this over as I puttered around the kitchen waiting for
Stoney to get home.  Kara.  Daddy's a big-time attorney.  I have a picture
of how HE would be, but I know better than to prejudge.  She, on the other
hand, sounded almost fragile.  It wouldn't be the first time that I worked
with high school students.  Occasionally the orchestra did community
outreach but this was the first time that I was ever asked on my own to
perform.  Well actually they asked the two of us to perform.

   I was thinking that we wouldn't just perform, that we would try and
interact.  After all if Kara and her friends were that into music then they
probably wanted to play.  I think it would be a lot of fun to work with
them exploring what they knew and what we knew and we can see what we could
synthesize out of all that.

   Stoney called me as soon as he got out of the office and on the street
headed home.

   "Hi baby."

   "Hello there, cute little redheaded girl."

   "Something interesting happened today," I said.

   "Good interesting.  Or bad interesting?"

   "I think it's good interesting.  I got a phone call asking about Rara
Avis."

   "Really?"

   "Yeah, really."

   "Hollywood?  Nashville?  Austin?  The New York Philharmonic?"

   "That would be something, wouldn't it?  But it was a high school kid. 
Wants to know if we will play for her and her friends."

   "And they want to pay us?" he asked.

   "I don't know if I'll want to get paid.  I mean, it's high school kids.
They are into music.  I don't want take advantage of them."

   "But they called with the intention of paying, didn't they?  And did you
get a name?"

   "Of course!  And you're gonna love it."

   "Oh, boy," he laughed.  "This is probably good!"

   "Remember that lawyer you made the foreskin joke about?"

   "Uh, yeahhhhh."

   "His daughter."

   "I'm in traffic," he said.t "We'll talk when I get home."

   "Luvya, Stoney," I said.

   "Luvya, babe," he replied and the phone clicked.

   I made a final check.  A lasagna was in the oven, timed to be just right
when he came in the door.  I put a loaf of fresh bread on the table, a
couple of green salads, two wine glasses, a bottle of wine was open,
breathing.  Some days I just want it to LOOK special.

   When he came through the door, the first thing he did was wrap me up in
his arms, kissed me through my squeals.

   "Look!  I've been all domestic an' stuff," I squealed when he finally
released me.

   "Wow!  Better Homes & Gardens," he said.  "What's the occasion?"

   "I found myself married to this guy I want to impress."

   "You've already impressed the daylights out of him," Stoney smiled.

   "Go wash up.  I'll put the plates on the table," I said.

   It was all very genteel, sitting across the table from one another,
talking.

   About the phone call, of course.

   "So what you're saying is that we get together and do a jam session."

   "Sort of," I said.  "Kara says she loved how we looked at the concert."

   "I knew that getting on stage was gonna end up bad," he said.  Of course
he was smiling.  "What makes you think this is a good idea?"

   "First, she called and asked.  Second, I dunno, Stoney.  She sounded
like she was trying to grasp at something."

   Stoney smiled softly.  "You're not looking for a kitten, are you?"

   "Noooo," I said.  "Let's just see what transpires.  Maybe she and her
friends will be a fun bunch to play music with."

   "Like that bunch that we play with..."

   "Maybe that's it.  Lets see what there is to it.  Worst happens, we find
something we don't want to deal with.  From there it goes uphill."

   "Optimistic little thing, aren't you?"

   "Only because I know what happens after the dishes and the practice
session..."

   The next day I was just out of my afternoon class when my phone rang. 
Looked.  Kara Sevinsky.  "Hi, Kara," I said.

   "Hi, Johanna," she said.  "Did you talk with your husband?"

   "Sure did," I said.  "He's okay with it."

   Happy sound.  "Great!  Now when?"

   "Mondays don't work for us.  That's MY practice night with my gang. 
Other than that ...  I guess Fridays aren't good for you."

   "Why?" she asked.

   "Isn't that that like a big date night?"

   "For some people, maybe." She sounded a bit sad.

   "Look, Kara, if YOU want to come over any night, I'll give you our
address.  Come visit.  What instrument do you play?"

   "Violin," she said.  "You ...  I mean, you've never met me."

   "And you've only seen me on stage.  But we're normal people who love
music.  If you want..." I don't know why I did it.  It's done, though.

   "Is this a good evening?"

   "Yes, as a matter of fact, it is ...  Do you prefer pizza or Chinese?"

   "Pizza."

   "Anchovies?"

   "Oh, gosh, no..."

   "Okay, we can live without them once," I said.

   "What time?"

   "Stoney gets home right before five, but you are welcome any time.  I
get home in forty-five minutes.  I'll message you our address."

   "Oh, thank you."

   "Bring your violin."

   "It's in my car."

   "Okay, Kara.  I will see you in a bit."

   "Okay, Johanna.  Bye.  And thank you."

   She hung up.  I thumbed the message with our address and sent it.

   A minute and a half later I received "Got it!  Tnx!"

   When I got through our door I surveyed our little home.  After a quick
Google Earth search that showed me where Kara lived, we were in a
comparative hovel.  But that's okay.  It's OUR hovel: neat, clean and
furnished with everything we desire, including love that flows out of the
door when you open it.  I just wondered what it would look like to the teen
daughter of a (another bit of internet searching) wealthy trial lawyer.

   I dropped my bookbag/backpack on the end of the sofa, was just getting
ready to sit down when I heard the doorbell.  I peaked through the
peephole. There was, as Stoney puts it, a standard brown-haired girl there.
Brown-haired teen girls lie outside the parameters of expected purveyors of
mayhem, so I opened the door.

   "Hi," I said.  "Are you Kara?"

   She smiled shyly.  "Yes.  You're beautiful up close, too, Johanna."

   "Thanks.  You can call me 'Jo' if you want.  Saves breath.  Come in!"

   She stepped inside and I closed the door behind her.  She swiveled, not
her head, her whole body turned as she looked about the apartment.  "This
is nice."

   "Thank you," I said.

   Her eyes fastened on Stoney's framed Pinkie.  "That's a beautiful
painting.  You have good taste."

   I smiled.  "I guess so.  I chose to marry the guy who thought that
painting was pretty enough to pay for."

   "Your husband?  Stoney?  He bought this?"

   "Yes.  I knew the artist from some art electives I took in college.  It
wasn't what I expected to find on the wall in a single guy's apartment. 
Sit down, Kara.  Please."

   She sat on the sofa at one end.  I moved my backpack and sat at the
other.

   "Oh, you're right.  Let's see, posters of NFL cheerleaders.  Big trucks.
Exotic cars.  But not THAT." She smiled.  "Dad doesn't have a poster.  He
has the actual car."

   "Really?  Which one?"

   "A stable, actually," Kara said, stroking her violin case like it was a
talisman.  I'm glad I noted that motion.  It turns out to be more than idle
motion.

   "He's got a Maserati.  And a Ferrari.  And a high-end Porsche.  And a
Corvette.  And a couple of others.  And a trophy wife.  And me." She looked
down.  "I'm not much of a trophy."

   "What about your mom?"

   "Gone."

   "I'm sorry.  I shouldn't have pried."

   "It's not prying.  It's a perfectly decent question.  He's got his toys.
I've got mine." She was still stroking the violin case.

   I sensed (terribly perceptive, I am!) that Kara wanted someone to talk
with.  My best move was to gently converse and to listen strenuously.

   "You like music?" I asked.

   That shy smile again.  "I love it.  Live for it."

   "Want to show me what you like?  What are you working on right now?" I
asked.

   "You want me to play?  For YOU?  Jo, you're, like, a PROFESSIONAL!"

   "No, Kara, I'm just a student a few years ahead of you.  How old are
you?"

   "Seventeen."

   "See," I retorted.  "I'm twenty-one.  Just a few years.  And do you play
for your teachers?"

   "Yes.  Of course."

   "For your friends?"

   "But they're music geeks like me."

   I smiled.  "I have been a music geek since I was nine.  And I am your
friend as well."

   "'Kay, then.  But don't expect much." She smiled again as she popped the
latches on her violin case.  When she removed the instrument from its
velvet cradle she was almost reverential.  She spent a short time checking
it over.  "Jo, you need to give me a note so we can tune together."

   Ah, the girl wants a note.  I retrieved my flute.  "'G'," I said, and
hit it.

   She refined the tuning, smiled at me, and when she placed the chin rest
under her chin, her eyes changed.  Her demeanor changed.  Her eyes flashed
at me and the bow touched the strings.

   I guess I didn't know what I was expecting.  Certainly it wasn't what
assailed my ears.  Her fingers flew on the strings and the bow danced.  She
played a short snatch.

   "Molly Ban Reel, " I said.  "How much do you know?"

   Confident giggle.  "You know this one?"

   "My mother is native Irish.  I have immersed myself in that music.  I
know that piece." I paused.  "You didn't get that from just high school
music classes."

   Her expression reset to the original.  "My father does not mind paying
for lessons.  I get to go to classes, I'm not around being inconvenient."

   "Explains how a girl named Sevinsky knows Irish reels.  You want to try
that together?"

   The confident look reappeared.  "Sure.  If you want to play with me."

   "Why else would I ask?" I said.  "On three?"

   "On three," came the reply.

   "One ...  two ...  three..."

   We were in mid-song when Stoney walked in the door.  We lowered our
instruments.

   "Wow," he blurted.  "You should hear that from the sidewalk."

   "Too loud?" I asked.

   "Enthusiastic," he said.  He looked at Kara.  "Hi!  I'm Stoney.  Randall
Jackson, actually, but Stoney's what people call me.  You're Kara?"

   "Yes, I am," she said.  Before my eyes, she started backing into her
shell.

   "You play very well," he smiled.

   "She knows Molly Ban Reel and a bunch of others," I said.  "Stoney,
order pizza sans anchovies, then get your banjo."

   Kara's smile came back brighter.  "He's gonna play with US?"

   "Stoney is my musical mate," I said.  "We're made to make music
together."

   Stoney punched madly at his iPad for a few moments.  "Pizza's on the
way," he announced, then he reached behind the sofa and retrieved his
banjo.

   "So, Miss Kara, is that a fiddle or a violin?" Stoney asked.

   "Is that a banjo or a lute?" she tossed back.

   He looked at me.  "You two have been talking."

   I smiled.

   "That was Durang's Hornpipe you were playing when I walked in, wasn't
it?" he asked.

   Her brown eyes got a definite liveliness to them.  "It was.  So this is
a fiddle.  For now, at least."

   "Lets start at the beginning," I said.  Stoney and I had played this
piece a lot.  "One ...  two ...  three..." And we played it through three
iterations.  I have a happy time with a flute lead and Stoney gives forth
masterfully on his banjo and I am rapidly learning that Kara is good on her
uh ...  Celtic ...  her fiddle.

   The doorbell interrupted us a couple of tunes later and we took a pizza
break.

   "You need to learn to eat anchovies, Kara," Stoney said.

   "Next time we'll order two pizzas, one with, one without," I said.

   Kara didn't look too convinced about anchovies.  "I've never tried them.
All I have ever heard, though..." she smiled wryly.  "Are you saying that
anchovies are key to musical prowess?"

   After pizza, two good handwashings (Stoney and Kara) and a good
toothbrushing (me) we went back to playing and having fun.  Doorbell.  The
Hlinkas.

   "Please come in," I said.  "Mister Georg and Mizz Betta, this is Kara
Sevinsky.  Kara, our wonderful neighbors, the Hlinkas."

   Kara returns to shyness so fast.  I imagine it must have been a major
hurdle for her to actually call me.  "Hello.  I am pleased to meet you."

   "We heard the music again," Mizz Betta said.  "Would we be imposing to
ask to listen without the walls between us?"

   "Certainly not," Stoney said.  "We're privileged for you to show up."

   "Mizz Betta and Mister Georg are our neighbors," I explained to Kara. 
"They keep telling us that our music does not disturb them."

   "Are you also a college student?" Mister Georg asked.

   "Oh, no sir," Kara answered.  "I'm a high school senior."

   "And that was you on the violin, surely.  You play very well." He
smiled, looked to Betta who was smiling as well.

   "Thank you so much," Kara said.

   We played for a bit more and the Hlinkas begged off and went home.

   "They're nice.  Are they your relatives?" Kara questioned.

   "Nope.  Just a nice old retired couple.  He plays oboe a little
sometimes, too," Stoney said.

   "Oh," Kara replied.  "They act like you're all connected."

   "Same connection as we have with you, Kara," I said.  "Love of music."

   "I love this," Kara said.  "Even better than with my friends.  You're a
bit more mature."

   "More mature than high school students," Stoney said, smiling at her. 
"I hope so."

   "That sort of came out wrong," she said.  "I meant, well, two guys, and
one of 'em keeps hittin' on me.  I don't know how to stop him without
sounding mean."

   "Jo?  You got any idea?"

   "You could get Stoney to beat 'im up," I smirked.

   "Jo!" he spat.

   "No, seriously, Kara, the best you can do is to firmly tell him 'no'. 
You can suggest continued friendship as an alternative, but some guys just
don't seem to take a hint."

   Kara smiled.  "But there's a story about Stoney and old boyfriends."

   "Our first date," I said.  "'Nuther guy that I dated ONCE thought I was
HIS possession.  Wouldn't take 'no' for an answer.  Grabbed me.  Swung at
Stoney."

   "And Stoney..."

   "I pushed 'im." Stoney was trying NOT to sound like a Neanderthal.

   "Stoney broke out two teeth and broke his nose."

   Kara eyed him.  "You do martial arts stuff?"

   "I have done a bit.  Fought off boredom in the Army.  Had to do
something."

   I smiled.  I know the story.  More of it than Stoney is liable to tell
Kara.

   "I hope it doesn't come to that," Kara said as she stowed her violin in
its case.  "Now, about this evening..."

   "We had a great time," I said.  Stoney shook his head in agreement. 
"So, what next?"

   "I really would like to share this with my friends.  Would you..."

   "Let's figure out when and where," I said.

   "But..." she looked at me, then Stoney.  "I'd kind of like to keep you
to myself, too.  I had a blast."

   "We can do both, right Stoney?" I said.

   "Sure can.  Jo, do you think Kara might work out in your Monday
sessions?"

   "Mondays are a bunch of us from the orchestra.  A combination practice
and jam session.  Sort of like tonight except we don't get very far from
the music we're working on in classes."

   "You're college musicians.  I'm only high school," Kara noted.

   "Kara, baby, you're in no way inferior in skills.  Lemme pose it to the
group.  No, check that.  Monday is our last one this semester.  Come here
and you can ride with us.  If your dad says it's okay."

   "Dad's not going to say anything as long as I stay out of jail and out
of the news." She went back to looking sad.

   "Then it's a plan.  Just come over after school.  We'll have sandwiches
and then go do it."

   Amid thank you's, Kara left.

   I turned to Stoney.  "Dear husband of mine, that is a little girl with
family issues."



   ------

   Chapter 37

   Stoney's Turn:

   That was a surprise.  Of course, since last September I've had lots of
surprises.

   That was pleasant.  Same thing.  Since I touched fingertips one day with
this startling redhead, I've had lots of 'pleasant', too.

   I parsed Jo's comments, "A little girl with family issues." "I get the
feeling..." I concurred.  "She's quite comfortable when she's playing,
though."

   My partner smiled.  "I've seen the family issues.  Us military brats get
an introduction." She paused.  "No, make that an immersion.  It's a tough
venue for marriages and families, what with a parent being deployed and
leaving the other parent and kids back home.  I've seen it all."

   I nodded.  I was single, but I kept track of the conversations of my
fellow soldiers.  I knew some stories.

   "I guess it shows up more for the girls," Jo sighed.  "Some go to one
extreme, some go to the other.  Kara turned inward.  The sad part is that
it seems that her dad had a choice.  Some of Dad's contemporaries had no
choice."

   "Your dad's contemporaries weren't pulling in millions from lawsuits.  I
can only imagine what that wealth did for Kara's dad."

   "She seems like a neat kid," Jo told me.

   "Kid?  She's what, four or five years younger than you?"

   "That's an important four or five years," she said.  "The seventeen year
old Jo was a lot different than the twenty-one year old Jo.  And I had the
good fortune to have Anders and Bridgette for parents."

   "Remind me to tell them how great a job they did, one more time," I
smiled.

   "You're just easily manipulated, sir," she giggled.

   She manipulated me through the kitchen to tidy up, then straight into
the shower and to bed.

   Next morning the alarm clock reminded me that I had a real job.  That
job used to be the high point of my day.  I like what I do and whom I get
to do it with.  I know some true horror stories about cubicle-bound staff
engineers.  After all, Dilbert cartoons abound, and a lot of them are only
the proverbial 'tip of the iceberg'.  I have a few posted myself.

   The fact that my boss walks into my cubicle and laughs at the new ones
is a sign of the balance and harmony we enjoy.

   But that was then.  This is now.  The same alarm that woke me to the
sounds of Mozart woke up this amazing redhead next to me.  Her arms
wrapping me up are just an iota short of what it takes to chuck the whole
job.

   I kiss her and get out of bed.  Classes over, she gets to lounge in bed
late now.  I'm bumping through breakfast in the kitchen when a soft hand
rests on my shoulder.

   "You know, you COULD sleep late."

   "I know, but ...  You made enough coffee for two, didn't you?"

   Of course I did.  My smile transmitted that data to her.  A cheese
Danish in the microwave for twenty seconds and she was sitting across the
table from me.

   "Still on that Central American power grid?"

   "Yes," I said.  "Got 3Sigma's stuff.  Just finishing the package to meet
that January 15 deadline.  Lights'll stay on in Managua and Tegucigalpa. 
At least more reliably than they used to."

   "And look at what manner of fate this job has gotten us," she replied.
"Got that strange gang in Alabama out of the job."

   "Yeah," I said.  "Definitely one of thse unexpected twists."

   "Kara's another one, sweetie.  Can you..."

   "Can I handle whatever you bring to me?  Yes," I said.

   "I'm not some whacko pseudo-lib college girl looking for a cause," she
said.  "I don't go looking, but if one knocks on my door..."

   I took a sip of coffee.  "I know what you are, dearest.  You're my
brilliant, beautiful Johanna.  And I can trust you to do the right thing."

   Finally I succumbed to my exaggerated sense of responsibility and
collected a kiss at the door.  The drive to work ...  Oh, yeah, I'm paying
attention, new SUV and all, and the route still works well, but I do admit
a heightened awareness of intersections, green light in my favor or not.

   Into the office, straight to the coffee room.  Hot water.  My French
press.  My own coffee.  And we're good.

   Brad walks in.  He drinks the factory stuff.  "How's it going?" he asks.

   "Great!  Almost nirvana."

   "Says the guy who's been married two months."

   "Three."

   "I'm surprised you can walk, wreck notwithstanding," Brad laughed.

   Carole looked at him.  "Bradley Sykes!  Don't be coarse."

   Brad took on his trademarked smirk.  "I meant that he's still floating
among the clouds," he stated innocently.

   "Yeah.  Uh-huh..." Carole gave him a look.  "I'm watchin' you, Bradley.
And me an' your wife are friends."

   "And my wife adores me," he laughed.  "And she knows how YOU are."

   Okay.  Off to work.  Double check the 3Sigma stuff.  Waste of time, I
quickly saw, but I had to do it.  Prudent.  Errors do creep in.  I know. 
Sitting there entering the data is tedious, and that assumes that the
people who gathered the data to give you got their stuff accurately
recorded.

   I closed my eyes after half an hour.  Played the Phases of Johanna
slideshow in my mind.  There's an extra set of slides.  My redheaded
Johanna and her new friend, brown-headed, brown eyed Kara, violin tucked
under her chin, a smile on her lips.  The smile stayed there as long as she
played.

   Johanna's turn:

   Grocery shopping.  I giggle to myself as I parse that idea.  Johanna is
preparing for a Christmas dinner.  Mom and Dad are coming.  This is a big
milestone.  We can do it, Stoney and I.  Won't be that big nor that fancy,
but it will be like some of the Christmas meals I enjoyed while growing up
where the menu's lack was made up for by the love.  And the sharing.  Dad
and Mom often opened up our home for other families of junior soldiers who
might be under strained finances.

   And Christmas music.  You know all of 'em and so do I, and the store
where I shopped was playing some good tracks of traditional songs.  I
hummed along.  Okay, I hummed and imagined my flute playing along.  I
checked out, loaded my loot, heading home.  I stored the perishables and
put the canned goods away.  Being all domestic, me.  I worked up until
lunch giving the kitchen a good going over.  No, it was clean.  But I
wanted it spotless for Christmas.

   At lunch I fixed myself a little sandwich and took time to eat and read.
The phone rang.  My Stoney.  We exchanged words over who was doing what. 
Ended with the exchange of "I love you".  I do love him and that's all the
more reason to get back to my task.

   Our little place wasn't dirty, but as Dad used to say, "Details..."

   I had just eased back into Stoney's recliner, smelling his fragrance
where it permeates the fabric.  I closed my eyes.  And my cellphone rang.
Nope, none of the distinctive ringtones for my friends and family, this was
the generic one.

   "Hi!  This is Jo!"

   Soft voice.  "Jo, this is Kara.  I enjoyed last night..." Her tone
drifted off at the end of that statement, making a question evident.

   Okay, I don't know why I'm doing this, but...  "We enjoyed it too, Kara.
Looking forward to the next one."

   "W-would today ...  too soon?"

   "Of course NOT," I squealed.  "Come on.  But I'll warn you before you
decide, I made cabbage rolls."

   "Oh, gosh, you COOK?  Yourself?"

   "Of course!  I'm in between semesters.  Stoney has to work, so I take
care of the house.  That means cooking."

   "Are you sure I'm not, like, IMPOSING?"

   "No, seriously, Stoney enjoyed you playing with us."

   "Is he coming home at the same time?" she asked.

   "Maybe not.  He's finishing a project.  He said he wanted to get to a
good stopping place before Christmas."

   "I'm leaving school.  Can I come straight there?"

   "Come on," I said.

   "Oh, thank you, Jo.  I'll be there in a bit."

   I had to report that to Stoney.  A quick email works.  It's more
discreet than a phone call or a text.  <<Click!>> and it's gone.  That has
one of two outcomes.  I get a quick 'okay' reply or...

   My phone rang.  Stoney.

   "Hi, babe!"

   "Hello, sweetness.  She called back?"

   "Yes, she did.  Stoney, I don't have the heart to turn her down.  Don't
ask me why."

   "I know why," he said.  "And I'm okay with it."

   "Normal time?"

   "If I must.  But we're really working on this thing.  I want to have a
couple of tabs ready before Christmas.  It'll make Bill relax."

   "Take your time.  We'll be okay."

   "I love you, you know."

   "And I love YOU, too.  And one day we won't have to..."

   "If that's what we want.  These things are my marathons."

   "I know," I said.  "Cindy told me about the 'I'm bored, let's engineer'
phone calls."

   "Oh."

   "Oh, don't sound so caught.  Cindy said you called to talk to Dan and
she hijacked the conversation."

   "Didn't want you thinking I was calling Cindy behind your back."

   I giggled.  "Those girls, all of them, are totally devoted to their
husbands.  First, I don't even begin to worry about YOU.  Second, I don't
worry about THEM."

   "Good!  You shouldn't.  I just didn't want you to know how stir-crazy I
was."

   "You're not crazy.  I can understand how you were, stuck in the house.
But Kara, you sure it's okay?  Just this one time?"

   "Sure, baby.  Just keep your antennae up, okay?"

   "Okay, sweetie," I said.  "I just have this feeling.  You know how I am
about feelings, right?  I had one about YOU.  I'll be careful, baby," I
assured him.

   "Okay.  I'll probably be a couple hours late."

   "The cabbage rolls," I said.  "I'll have your plate in the fridge."

   "'Kay, baby.  I love you."

   "And I adore you, Stonewall Jackson." The phone clicked.

   I put the kettle on to boil.  Tea!  A little late, but still, I just
wanted to have something for Kara when she arrived.

   Arrive she did.  Doorbell rang.  I opened it and let her in.  Her smile
was so shy, almost tentative.

   "Hi, Jo," she said.  "I don't mean to be a pest..."

   "You're no pest, Kara.  I'm pleased to have you over.  Come, sit!  I've
made tea."

   When she saw the teapot, she said, "I've never had tea like this.  You
know, this is Houston.  'Tea' means iced tea."

   "Oh, don't I know," I said.  "But Mom is Irish and they're almost as
fanatical about it as the English." I guided her through the little ritual.
Nope, it's not a Japanese tea ceremony, but it IS a ritual.

   "Where'd these cookies come from?" Kara asked.  "They're quite unusual.
Some kind of exotic hints there."

   "Mizz Betta bakes them."

   "I remember her.  These are good.  Tell her that I liked them."

   "I certainly will.  She's a great person."

   "You like people, don't you, Jo?" Kara said, looking over her teacup.

   "Yes, I do.  There are exceptions, though.  But for the most part I
start out giving people the benefit of a doubt."

   "I don't like my dad, Jo."

   That's a harsh thing to my ears.  I mean, she's just met me and she's
unloading this on me.

   "I see that picture over there.  I assume that's you and your Mom and
Dad.  He was in the military?"

   The picture was when I was seventeen and Dad was a year away from
retirement.  He'd just gotten his silver eagles and Mom and I talked him
into a formal family portrait.  It's one of my favorites.  "Dad's a retired
Army colonel."

   "Was he there for you, Jo?  When you needed ...  and is that your mom?"

   "Those are my parents," I said.  "I am fortunate.  Yes, Dad was there
for me.  We were there for him, too, when he came back from deployment." We
moved to the sofa, teacups and saucers in hand.

   "That's what I missed.  That whole mom and dad thing." Her face darkened
as she spoke.

   "You said your mom was gone..."

   "Mom was Dad's first wife.  He was a young lawyer.  She was ...  oh,
it's a RICH story ...  the receptionist at the first law firm he worked
for. Grandma said that Mom got pregnant and Dad married her because he
needed to make a good impression at the firm.  She lasted as long as he was
there.  When he left, new firm, divorce.  I stayed with Mom until she went
off the deep end." She sighed heavily.  "Dad ...  new firm, new hottie."
And another sigh.  "Current 'Mom' is hottie number three."

   What can you say?  I went with, "I'm sorry, Kara."

   "I wouldn't be with Dad now but Mom just sort of lost it.  Kept getting
worse and worse, finally ended up in one of THOSE hospitals.  I went to
Dad's, all 'until your mom gets better, honey.' But when Mom got out, she
went to a cheap motel with a big bottle of pills..."

   This time it wasn't a sigh, it was a sob, and 'I'm sorry' just wouldn't
cut it.  I slid over and held her and let her cry.

   "Baby," I finally said, "How long have you kept this bottled up?"

   "Oh, Jo ...  I'm sorry..." sob.  "I just put it all together and it hit
me.  Sooo hardddd..." More sobs.

   "Dad never wanted to be a dad.  He wanted to have a steady supply of arm
candy but he couldn't ditch his daughter and keep up the façade in front
of his friends."

   I patted and stroked her head, staying silent.

   "I've had nannies when I was little, and I've had tutors and care-takers
and baby-sitters.  What I haven't had was a parent." She took a deep
breath. Sat back, away from me.  "Or somebody to talk to." She squared her
shoulders, got a look in her eye that I hadn't seen in her before.  "Not
'talk with', 'talk to.' There IS a difference."

   "I do understand."

   "Well I don't, Jo.  Why am I telling you all of this?"

   "You know," I replied softly, "it must be me.  Stoney told me things
about himself that he says he never told anybody before."

   She wiped her cheeks free of tears.  "I'm sorry.  I sort of lost it.  I
don't do this all the time, just so you know."

   "Don't worry, Kara.  I'm your friend.  What you tell me is between us.
And sometimes one needs a sympathetic ear."

   "You're gonna tell me that you've heard stories like this before?"

   "I was an Army brat.  I know stories about kids who apparently reacted
to family issues in far more destructive fashion than you seem to be
doing."

   She gazed at me.

   "Drugs.  Sex.  Rebellion.  Crime.  Combinations of all of those.  I've
seen it.  Lived right next door to it." I had.  Military housing areas are
notorious.

   "I couldn't.  Didn't.  I hate Dad, not myself."

   "Hate?  Really, Kara?"

   "No," she said, casting her eyes downward.  "I suppose not.  That's not
the word.  Maybe 'disappointed' is a better word."

   "You need to take care of yourself, Kara.  You seem to have a good head
on your shoulders."

   "I try.  For the last two years I've been depending on our Guatemalan
housekeeper.  She's a good person.  And I've become bi-lingual." Giggle.

   I saw the giggle as a good turn to the conversation.

   "But she's been here working to save money so she could go back to her
family in Guatemala and she left two weeks ago.  Dad hasn't replaced her,
and I doubt that the next one will want to spend time mothering a spoilt
Anglo girl like Ysabela did." Sigh.  "I was the same age as Ysabela's
youngest sister.  She would listen to me practice my violin while she
cleaned up after dinner."

   I was still silent, letting her talk her way through this.

   She trailed her fingers along the lid of her violin case.  "I stay out
of trouble.  I do very well at school, you know.  Not just in music.  I
have almost a 4.0 average."

   "Really?" I said.  "That's very good."

   "It's not from Dad's help with homework, that's for sure," she
continued. "I can do things.  Read.  Understand.  Listen.  Learn." Shy
smile.  "Of course going to a private school..."

   "Private school?"

   "Yes, I thought you understood that.  I do."

   She named the school, one with which I was vaguely familiar.  "That
eliminates some of the distractions.  Not all of them, though, and believe
me, those teachers are dedicated to their subject matter.  It's not that 'I
gots me a dee-gree an' I be's a TEACHER' kind of thing.  I tried about
three weeks of public school when we first moved into the house where we
live now.  Dad should've known better.  He thought that the upscale
neighborhood would have good schools attached." She paused.  "'Good' is a
relative term.  I had my purse stolen the second day I was there.  After I
got in a fight over the second purse, Dad saw the light.  Just wouldn't do
for the daughter of Noted Attorney Evan Sevinsky to be plastered all over
the news." Smirk.  "I got transferred to the new school in a week." Another
smirk.  "A school that supposedly had a thirteen-month waiting list."

   I smiled.  "Your dad's a lawyer.  He knows how to pull strings."

   "Yeah.  Uh-huh," she said.  "Some people would find it amazing, I'm
sure." She tipped her teacup up, draining it.  "You know, Jo, this tea
thing.  It's civilized." After she placed her cup in its saucer on the end
table, her finger flipped open a latch on her violin case.  "Did you ever
hide behind your music?"

   I don't know if she knew, not likely, or suspected, more likely, or was
just commenting on her particular situation.  "I have.  I think I was
hiding until Stoney came along."

   She smiled.  "What made you change your mind?"

   "Stoney.  He's The One." I told her about the 'You're cheating' comment
that broke the ice.  She laughed.

   "It shows.  It showed when I saw the two of you on stage.  Like you were
playing to each other.  Like last night."

   "I am fortunate," I said.  "He's MY Stoney and I'm his Johanna.  He's
smart and sane and he worships me, which is a wonderful thing except where
it gets in the way of me worshiping him."

   "You know, that's the first time anyone ever said how much they LOVED
another person." She smiled.  "I mean, other than that 'breathless
schoolgirl' thing where you know it's all gonna be over and on to the next
one in two weeks."

   I laughed.  "Oh, I've seen those.  Even did a couple of them myself. 
That stage changed, though.  An incident.  Made me look at things
different. Kara, I was traumatized."

   "Oh, there's a story."

   "Yes, there's a story.  And I shut down for a long time.  Stoney's the
happy result of ending that."

   Kara's eyes questioned.  "What caused you to shut down?"

   I told her.  Don't know why I told her, but I did.

   "That's what I worry about with this guy.  That he'll try something."

   "That wasn't what happened to me.  And for YOU, you make sure you never
find yourself where it's you and him alone."

   "Not going to happen," she said.  "I just don't..."

   "Do you talk with others, Kara?"

   "You mean like you and I have just talked?  No.  Chit-chat, yes.  If
somebody asks, I answer."

   Since she had her violin out, I opened up my flute case and started
assembling it.  I also retrieved some sheet music.

   "Grab that music stand over there.  This is Telemann's Canonic Sonata
for Flute and Violin."

   "I've heard of it," she said.  "You just had that lying around?"

   "No," I said.  "I called my music professor and asked him for a
recommendation.  He emailed me this."

   "You were thinking about this this morning?" she smiled.

   "Yes.  You play well.  Wanted to see what we could do.  Here's another
one." I handed her pages.

   "Uh, this is Bach's Little Fugue.  That's an organ piece."

   "Come on, Kara!  Notes are notes.  Let's stretch.  Think of Stoney and
his banjo doing Mozart."

   "Ri-iiight," she smiled.  That was sort of key.  Kara's smiles came a
lot easier when she was holding that violin.  She placed it under her chin,
smiled, and said, "Gimme a G'."

   We played a bit.

   "Uh, that buzz..."

   "Oven," I said.  "Cabbage rolls."

   "Dinner?"

   "Yes.  I made 'em myself from Mizz Betta's recipe.  Those, some brown
bread, a glass of wine.  Dinner."

   "I can't do wine.  Seventeen."

   "Coke?  Ginger ale?  Root beer?  Iced tea?"

   "Ginger ale sounds interesting," she said.  "What about Stoney?"

   "We'll (did I say that?  'We'?) fix him a plate and put it in the
fridge. Leftovers get wrapped and frozen."

   "Leftovers.  I've heard of them.  As you might imagine, Dad didn't do
'leftovers'.  Ysabel sometimes saved things that I liked.  I don't think
Dad's eaten the same thing twice in a row in a decade."

   "Must be nice."

   We sat at the little table.  She sat where Stoney usually sits, across
from me.  "These smell good.  You made them?"

   "I certainly did." I carved a forkful.  Kara was ahead of me, already
chewing and making happy sounds.

   "These are really GOOD!"

   "Thank you!" I squeaked.  So dinner was a success.  I thought that
afterward Kara would escape to the living room on some pretext or another,
but she bumped into me as we made short work of the kitchen.

   "I know my way around a kitchen.  Ysabel didn't mind showing me things
and talking to me about everything.  She taught me Spanish and I helped her
with English and it was a good thing."

   Okay.  That was a little bit of 'happy' being told to me.  "Thank you
for helping me, sweetie," I told her.

   She smiled.  This time she didn't divert her eyes downward.  "Thank you
for dinner.  Let's go try that fugue."

   I giggled at the ambition she showed.  We looked at the sheet music. 
"Which part do you want?  You want to lead, or you want me to?" I asked.

   "Let me be adventurous," she said.  "First try.  Sight reading.  This
may be rocky."



   ------

   Chapter 38

   Stoney's turn:

   When I was walking out of the building, headed home, I called Jo.

   "Hello, sweetness," she said.

   "Hi, princess," I returned.  "Did Kara come over?"

   "Oh, yes," she said.  "We're cranking out the music.  Come home and join
us!"

   "I'm on the way.  Pedaling as fast as I can."

   My wife giggled.  "Just drive careful.  You know how you are!"

   Ten minutes later I was parking.  Locked the SUV, walked to the door.  I
could hear the music as I unlocked it.  It stopped with the sound of my key
in the lock.  By the time I got the door open there was a giggly, smiling
redhead on the other side waiting on me.

   "Hi, sweetie!" and lots of little kisses.

   "Hi, punkin," I said.  I saw Kara sitting on the sofa.  "Hello, Kara..."

   "Hi, Stoney," she said.  "I guess I can go home now..." she looked sad,
and I really don't think she was trying to generate the look.  It's like it
was something she really couldn't contain.

   "You don't have to, Kara," I said.  "You and Jo keep doing what you were
doing.  I'll eat, then I'll come join you."

   Her smile brightened.  Jo leaned in for another kiss and surreptitiously
whispered "Thank you...".

   I moved my laptop bag further into the house.  Yeah, I carry it home. 
And I set it down if I'm getting hugs from Johanna.  I headed into the
kitchen, slid my plate in the microwave, poured myself a soft drink and set
it on the table.  I leaned against the door frame watching the two of them
making music.  GOOD music.

   "That's new," I said.

   "Little Fugue," Jo said.

   Kara was smiling.  "First time I ever tried it was today.  Is it too
bad?"

   "No, not at all," I smiled.  "Considering it's an organ piece. 
Seriously?  Your first try?"

   "We started when she got here," Jo stated.  "We're having fun with it.
Wanna try?" my wife giggled.  "It's G-Minor.  You get to stretch."

   "Yeah," I said.  "No fifth string unless I figure out how to retune." I
noticed Kara smiling serenely.  I think music really IS her thing.  "Okay,
I'll try.  But this is liable to be rocky."

   "You should try," Kara replied softly.  "Here, trying is okay."

   "You can't laugh," I said.  "This might be a stretch."

   "Let's go slow," Jo said.  "One ...  two ...  three..."

   I've learned a lot playing with Jo.  Some of it has to do with music. 
Before Jo, I never played with an actual virtuoso, or somebody that
actually had her years of music education.  Really, I did learn.  It showed
in the way I played, especially when I approached a new piece.

   I knew this one.  It's a favorite, but I'd only heard it as an organ
piece before tonight.  Now Jo was watching Kara take the first phrases with
her violin.  She pointed to the sheet of music where I was supposed to come
in, then her flute touched lips and she played along with Kara.  I followed
along, then let my eyes drive my fingers.

   Music was made.  Happily.  Around nine o'clock we wound down.  Kara was
putting her violin away.  "Thank you so much," she reprised.  "This is so
good."

   "When are we going to meet the rest of your group?" Jo asked.

   "We usually do Tuesdays.  If you really want to."

   "We'll talk," Jo replied.

   "Yes," Kara replied.  "Thank you for opening your home to me."

   "Glad to have you, Kara," I said.  I stood in the doorway watching her
go to her car.  When she was backing out of the parking spot, I closed the
door.  Turned.  There was Jo, in the process of wrapping her arms around
me.

   "I enjoy having company and I enjoy playing music, but I so much want to
wrap myself up with you," she whispered.

   What do you say to that?  Nothing, sir.  You return the kisses and revel
in the soft, happy body in your arms, the blue eyes that laugh and love
there before you.

   The two of us turned all responsible and domestic for a short while,
tidying up the kitchen, running the vacuum in the living room.  I was
coiling up the cord when Jo passed me, glancing coquettishly over her
shoulder.  "I'm heading for the shower..."

   On such incentives are records broken.  I stowed the vacuum and hit the
bathroom behind her, shedding clothing all along the way.  We achieved
synchronicity in the shower.  It was all very business-like.  We helped one
another reach the parts that needed to be reached.  Oh sure, there's that
certain amount of exploring what soapy suds do for a firm, perky breast and
hands made very sure that there were no spots on my scrotum or my dick that
lacked contact with cleansing water.

   The activities at the sink are now pretty well a routine.  Jo asked why
I shaved at night, way back when we first started living together.

   "First, you've felt me at the end of the day.  I get stubbly.  Would you
rather have that rubbing against you, or fresh shaved skin?"

   "You almost rubbed the skin off my thighs," she remembered.

   "I warned you, but nooooo ...  you held my head there..." She had.  I
didn't fight that very hard.  Jo's made for eating.  "And better, my face
is wet.  It shaves easier.  Not as irritating."

   "Ooooh," she smiled.  "Makes sense."

   "But I'll grow a beard if you want..."

   "No way." Giggle.

   I finished shaving, dried my face, took the hairbrush she offered. 
Worked over hair the color of new copper.  Finished by planting a kiss on
the crown of her head.

   Bedroom.  Inventory of my dresser drawer contents.  "We can do laundry
tomorrow."

   "'Kay," she said.  "I was planning on it.  While it's working, I can go
restock on cheese.  And stop by the bakery for some of those rolls you
like." This came as she was turning back the covers.  I noted that they
only went down halfway.  That meant we were going to talk before tearing
the bed apart.

   I slid in from my side and met her in the middle.  "Hi there, cutie!"

   "You again?" she giggled.

   "Sadly..."

   "Oh, don't be sad," she smirked.  "I'm sure you'll find happiness this
evening..." She kissed me and then propped up on an elbow.  "You love me,
don't you, Stoney?"

   "Of course." In my head though, wheels started spinning.  She knows the
answer to that question, so there's a point to which she is heading.  "More
than my own life, sweetness." Okay, let's see if I can push through the
fog. "Why do you ask?  You know..."

   "I know.  I really, really do."

   "But..." I teased.

   "But nothing.  Kara..."

   "Is quite the musician," I said.  "Really."

   "She is.  Music is her safe place.  I know how that works.  I think..."

   "What do you think, cutie?"

   "Stoppit, you!  I'm trying to put thoughts together..."

   I kissed her nose.  "Okay, I'll be good..."

   Giggle.  "It is my expectation that you will be much more than just
good. But Kara's little world is sort of caving in.  I think that's why she
was here today."

   Jo told me sad stories about Kara.

   "You know," I said, "we hung out with that bunch of nuts in Alabama. 
You heard the stories from Tina and Cindy and Nikki.  But their moms had
NOTHING.  Kara's dad is rolling in it, and you tell me Kara..."

   "Just a different facet of the same problem, baby," she said.  "He
doesn't seem to want to be a parent."

   A light bulb went on in my head.  "And that bunch in Alabama, they seem
to have a way with positive thinking."

   "You think I ought to arrange for them to talk to Kara?"

   "Pick one.  Or two.  Or heck, the whole bunch.  If there's anyone in her
age group that can help, it's probably one of those."

   She smiled.  "You know, I need to be honest with you."

   I know she reads me like a large-print book.

   "Oh, get that look off your face, Stoney.  I am honest with you.  Just
that I'd already thought about introducing Kara to the Sisterhood over
there.  I just wanted to see YOU come up with the same idea."

   "And I did, didn't I?" I'm proud of myself.  I can see where some people
might've been fuzzing up at the idea of their evenings being occupied with
a teen outsider instead of hot, wet sex.  But honestly, we made it to the
hot wet sex plenty often, and part of the intense love I had for this girl
was that sex wasn't the only dimension to our union.

   Although what happened next certainly was hot and wet.

   Did it work?  Not the sex.  THAT works!  No, the next day, ten minutes
before I left the office, my phone rang.  Outside call.  Not Jo.  "Oak Tree
Engineering.  This is Randall Jackson.  Can I help you?"

   "Stonewall Jackson, what can you tell me about Kara Sevinsky?"

   Dan Richards, AKA Dan 1.0, husband of Cindy.  "Well, hello there, Dan
Richards!  How's Cindy?"

   "Scaring people to death.  You don't want to know..."

   "Yeah I do.  I like happy stories."

   "So what's the deal with Kara?"

   "She's seventeen, her dad's a very well to do trial lawyer, and he's too
busy with his own life to have a daughter.  She's reaching out.  Music's
her refuge, that's how we ended up with her."

   "Ended up?" Dan asked.

   "Well, no, not exactly.  But she's grasping.  Jo's trying to help.  I'm
backing Jo up.  And between the two of us, we determined that Cindy and the
gang might be somebody Kara could talk with."

   "Why?"

   "Sort of the same thing," I said.  "Kara's dad doesn't do 'father' at
all.  Kara said all the parenting was being done by the Guatemalan
housekeeper, and she just left to go back to her family."

   "My, my, my," Dan said.  "There are so many things to say about this."

   "You know how that could've turned out, Dan.  But so far, it doesn't
seem like it has.  She's smart, musical prodigy smart.  A little withdrawn,
unsure, tentative, until she puts that violin to her chin, then there's a
transformation."

   "That's something I can relate to," he said.  "I've seen Cindy in The
Zone."

   "Then we didn't over step our bounds, telling Kara to talk to Cindy?"

   "Hell yes, you overstepped your bounds, buddy..."

   I was shocked.

   " ...  but," he continued, allowing me to deflate, "I've been out of
bounds with Cindy for over a year now.  She's been 'Mother Hen' on her own
volition before, but it was academic.  She dragged a half-dozen kids
through math last year."

   "Well, this is different," I admitted.

   "And Cindy and her sisters are just the group to decide what they can
do."

   "You know, this conversation turned upside down," I said.

   "Howzat?"

   "You called me asking what sort of mess I was getting Cindy into, and
now you're trying to sell me on the idea."

   He laughed.  "Yeah, you're right.  Hey!  How about this?  We're gonna be
in Louisiana at Christmas time.  How about you and Jo and Kara visiting? 
We have plenty of room."

   "Lets do it this way: let Kara talk to Cindy and the gang and if they
come up with the idea, we'll do it."

   "Yeah.  I'm betting that's the way it'll break out," he said.  "So,
how's your flying lessons working out?"

   "Soloed.  Waiting on the FAA for my written scores.  Building time. 
Maybe by the end of January." I was really enjoying the flying.  And I
anticipated the next question.

   "And Jo's right there with you..." he laughed.

   "Yeah.  I may never find something that she won't want to be part of
again.  And you know what?  I absolutely love it."

   "Right there with you, buddy," he retorted.  "My owner has a very happy
pet."

   We hung up.  I went back to the details on my monitor, made some edits,
posted some comments, returned the document to the shared drive so others
could benefit from my wisdom.  I liken it to putting an artfully decorated
cake in a roomful of cats.

   I shut my computer down, put it in its bag and got up to leave.  Ran
into Brad.

   He laughed.  "I remember the old, dedicated Stoney who was NEVER out the
door on time."

   "Incentive, bud!  Incentive," I laughed.

   "Yeah, I know.  I remember how dedicated I was two months into my
marriage."

   "Oh, you still are."

   He laughed.  "Don't tell my wife that.  She'll take advantage of me."

   "Yeah, uh-huh."

   "You and Jo need to come visit again."

   "Or vice-versa."

   "I dunno about the kids in your apartment.  At our place they have room
to spread out."

   "I have X-Box," I said.

   "That takes care of the son, but I doubt you have the requisite supply
of colorful ponies and such to entertain the daughter.  So you and Jo come
over."

   "Lemme see what she's got in mind.  We'll come up with a night."

   "Make it a Saturday and I'll put something on to smoke on my Big Green
Egg." Brad was proud of his culinary skills and his big ceramic smoker did
good under his care.

   "Sounds good." We parted ways as our cars were in opposite ends of the
parking lot.  As soon as I was in the car I had my Bluetooth headset on.  I
punched up Siri on my iPhone and had her call Jo at home.

   "Hey, baby," she said.  I can see the smile in my mind's eye.

   "Hi, redhead," I countered.  "Sure didn't take you long to talk to
Cindy."

   "And the rest.  And Kara."

   "So ...  I figured that Cindy and the gang would be okay with it. 
What'd Kara say?"

   "I told her that they were my friends and they were very friendly and
intelligent and reminded me of her." She paused, thought for a second. 
"Hey, how do YOU know about all this?"

   "Because Cindy has a very protective husband."

   "Uh-huh," Jo said.  "And he's got the scars to prove it."

   "There is that." I paused.  "He just wanted to get a little background.
By the time I explained what the facts were as we knew them, he was acting
like it was his idea."

   Jo giggled.  "We keep working on this, we're going to have our own
chamber orchestra."

   "Yeah, uh-huh," I laughed.  "I got a blister trying to keep up with you
two last night."

   "And Kara said you performed masterfully," she replied.  "That was just
the music.  I think you preformed masterfully as well ...  Mmmmmmm!"

   "Tell me you're naked..."

   The giggle was answer enough.

   "Don't kill yourself hurrying home, love," she said.

   Okay, yeah ...  two months.  Still newlyweds.  It was hot.  It was
frantic.  We couldn't figure out who needed to do what to whom, so we just
did everything we could imagine to each other and ended up out of breath
and sticky and the phone rang.  Jo's phone.  Odd ring tone that I didn't
recognize.

   She slid her naked body over mine, making sure that when she reached her
phone her pubic mound was solidly connected with my semi-flaccid member.

   "Cindy," she said to me.  "Hi, little sister," she said into the phone.
Pause.  "Yes, she needs friends first, Cindy." Pause.  "Uh-huh.  You know
how it can be.  Let her sort of expand things." Pause.  "I'm sure that if
her dad had taken time to nudge her a little bit she'd be in college too."
Giggle.  "I've actually heard of people who get into college early." Pause.
Squeal.  "You're kidding, right?" Pause.  "Okay.  You know I trust you and
the rest." Pause.  "Okay.  G'bye!"

   A sexy redhead flopped back over a bit, laying full length atop me.  She
pushed her feet down against mine, causing her to ride up just enough for
our lips to touch.  I clamped my hands to her waist, relishing the
sensations.  Having said redhead purr in response to my touches heightened
the enjoyment.

   We rested together like that for a short while then she spoke.  "Cindy
and the rest are going to be friends with Kara.  I think that's going to be
a good thing."

   "I hope so.  Kara's such a kitten.  Not like you're a kitten.  It's just
that she seems sensitive."

   "Cindy's husband said the same thing about her," Jo told me, sliding off
to my side.  Her teeth nipped my earlobe, sending shockwaves through me.

   Giggle.  "I can control you soooo easy, Stonewall Jackson," she purred.
"A little touch here, a little nip there, and..." Her hand encircled my
hardening dick.  She tossed a leg over me like she was mounting a bike. 
There was nothing tentative about the move.  She was still oozing juices
from the last coupling, paving the way for a happy entry for another go.

   She looks down on me, smiling, her head tilted slightly.  "You know, all
my life I was made to do THIS with YOU."

   "I am saddened that I wasted any part of my life before I met you, my
beautiful, musical Johanna Elise," I said.

   "Worry not, brave warrior," she said.  "Here we are.  Perfectly mated."
And she moved.  And again.  And then it was out of any control of which I
might be capable.  My second of the evening, I was able to control ONE
thing, how soon I was going to shoot.  That went away with her tossing that
red hair back and keening her own orgasm.  And the collapse into my arms.

   Some time later, perhaps a few minutes, perhaps eons ...  who knows ...
we stirred.

   "Shower," she said.  "Then I have fresh bread and new old cheese and
some delightfully flavorful dry country ham.  And a bottle of
Gewurztraminer."

   "You astound me, lady."

   "I am supposed to astound you, guy," she said.  Kissed me on the nose
and rolled out of bed.

   Dinner.  Practice.  "Pull that Bach piece out," I said.

   "Ooooo, feeling feisty, are we?" she giggled.

   "You got it.  Kara's got it.  I cain't get beat by GIRLS!"

   Me, I played like I was possessed.  Jo was, well, Johanna,
concert-worthy flutist.  I knew that musically speaking I was forever in
her shadow.  I'm okay with that.  It's fun, even if sometimes it's like a
runner 'enjoying' marathons.  It hurts soooo good.

   "Kara's right.  You ARE getting it."

   "Thank you," I said.  "I'm really stretching it."

   "And that's how we grow, right?" She had one of those charmingly quirky
looks that just drive me wild.  "Let's do it one more time." She started
the flute toward her lips.

   "Yes, Mistress," I said meekly.

   "One ...  two ...  three..." And music was made again.  Finishing, my
banjo went to its wall hanger and her flute was carefully placed back in
its case.  She bent over and kissed me, a smiling peck.  "That's your
reward."

   Mid-evening, kitchen done, showers taken, music practice over, it's time
for a little traipse through the electronic frontier.  Jo's laptop came
out.

   She giggled.  "Message from Cindy: 'We had a good time talking with
Kara. She trusts you, she says, and calling us is something she would have
never done if you hadn't encouraged her.  I think we're going to be good
friends.  Wish she was closer.  I'm not calling you again tonight.  No
telling what I might interrupt.   -" Cindy'."

   "Sounds like you did good."

   "Sort of knew those girls could handle this.  Kara's the unknown in the
equation." She smiled softly.  "She's ...  she just popped up into our
lives, just like you popped into mine.  Something just spoke to me that I
shouldn't let HER drop, either."

   "You married me, though."

   "I knew I would.  The day I touched your fingers in Austin.  I knew. 
You didn't.  But I did.  But Kara ...  there's something that she brings to
the world, too, and I can't put my finger on it."

   I mused over that thought.  The 'Austin' thing wasn't new.  I found it
as delightful and charming today as I did the first time I heard it.  The
fact that she applied a similar intuition to Kara was telling.  "I trust
your intuition, dearest," I said.  "Just realize that you're dealing with a
person who has her own thoughts and feelings working in there, too. 
Sometimes that's just not neat."

   "I know," she countered.  "But I have to do my part."

   "You have.  You do.  But you're not adopting a puppy here, dear one," I
replied.



   ------

   Chapter 39

   Johanna's turn:

   It's not about sex.  We're cuddled together.  The sex is over for the
night.  And I still love him.  Of course, right now we're both glowing.  I
mean, if we tossed the covers back, the room would light up.  The
post-coital (coital?  - Damn you, Sheldon Cooper!) tingles will subside in
a bit, but that loving glow hasn't.  Nope.  Hasn't.  Not since I first
admitted to myself that this was the guy for my life.

   I trust him.  He trusts me.

   Kara's turn:

   Kara Sevinsky.  That's me.  I am five feet four inches tall and I weigh
a hundred and six pounds.  My hair is brown.  Plain brown.  At least I got
grey eyes (Not blue.  Grey.) out of the genetic mash-up between two
different genetic paths that were my parents.

   Ah, yes, the parental units.  Mom is gone.  Dead.  Since I was eight. 
It's a horrible, horrible story.  Dad was a new-minted attorney in a
mid-sized law firm.  Mom was a pretty young receptionist.  Very pretty. 
Worked on it.  Dad targeted her early on.  She met Dad's requirements:
Young, pretty and female.  They were married.  I was the result.  I don't
think I was part of Dad's plan.  Mom certainly wasn't, not with a screaming
kid.  Dad and Mom divorced when he left his first law firm.

   Mom was in love.  Dad wasn't.  It tore Mom up.  She went into
depression, drugs and alcohol and I spent a lot of time with her parents
while she went in and out of treatments.  I spent the occasional weekend
with Dad.  He tried, I guess.  For a while.  When I was eight, Mom went
into yet another hospital.  I had the optimism of an eight year old.  I
kept hoping that THIS time it would work.

   It didn't.  Mom checked out of the hospital and checked into a cheap
motel with a bottle of pills.  I lost my Mom.  I ended up with Dad when
Mom's mom died a year later.

   By this time Dad was on his second wife, another young pretty one.  And
Dad was making money, so I never lacked for anything, except a parent. 
Stepmom wasn't signed on to be a parent.  It wasn't out of any great love
for me that Dad decided to divorce her.  I harbored the thought that with
her out of the picture, I'd end up with Super Dad, unencumbered by a
twenty-something bleached-blonde bimbo.

   I was wrong.  Dad performed his duties within the statutory (yes, I'm
the daughter of an attorney.  I know 'statutory') requirements, but
perfunctory hugs every night ...  I can't explain.

   Two wives later, here I am.  Dad's on billboards all over Houston. 
Rolls in dough.  I get anything I want, but what I want is to be wanted.  I
do private schools.  Somewhere along the line I got the idea that I wanted
to play music.  Our private school class went to a performance of a chamber
orchestra and a beautiful girl played some classical music on a violin. 
It's like switches lined up in my brain.  This is what I want to do, I told
Dad.

   That's easy for Dad.  Write a check, and <<poof!>>, the daughter is
immersed in music.  Some kids would've bristled, some would have lost
interest, some would've added it to the long list of interests to rotate
through.  Me, Kara Sevinsky, I was meant to play the violin.

   I was a good student of academics, too, mind you.  Along with the grey
eyes, something else came out of the genetic cocktail that created me:
brains.  I'm adept.  Polymathic.  I have favorites subjects, for sure, but
NO subject has been difficult.  That's nice in one way.  I can let my mind
wander.  I can read.  I can play music.

   By the time I reached my middle teen years, we were in a big house,
commensurate with my Dad's status as a premier ambulance chaser trial
lawyer.  Gated community.  Servants.  The sweet lady who cared for our
house and did the cooking, Ysabela Luna, was more my parent than dear Dad
was.

   Her English was heavily accented but much better than my Spanish,
although I made a concerted effort to learn Spanish.  I did pretty good. 
Ysabela was good and honest and religious.  Every dime she made went either
right back to her Guatemalan family or into a savings account, but
honestly, she had a daughter here in Houston, a grey-eyed Anglo daughter
whom she graced with long conversations about what was right and wrong with
life.

   I learned from her.  Morals.  Life.  Cooking.  Being a decent human
being.

   By now I was in private school.  When we moved into this neighborhood
Dad thought that it would come with a good public school.  He was wrong. 
The seond day I was there I got my purse stolen.  On the third day I caught
a girl trying to get my new purse and I got in a fight.  Dad's intervention
kept an expulsion off my permanent record, and his intervention got me into
this exclusive school.

   You might think that absent the lower tiers of society, a private school
would be quite the place to grow.  You'd be wrong.  If you're in a position
for your parents to send you to an exclusive school, you have plenty of
options to be spoiled and feel entitled.  Except you dress better and have
better toys.

   I sort of folded in on myself.  Music.  I was friendly enough and polite
enough to the other students and I was smart enough so that I wasn't on my
teachers' radar except when they noticed that Kara Sevinsky has been
running 98% on every test they gave her.

   The letter home to Dad about that got me praise.  After all, I was HIS
daughter, therefore anything positive that came out of my existence was a
credit to him.  Some kids would rebel at that supposition.  I knew some in
school who were doing just that.

   I knew better.  Ysabela saw the letter too.  "Kara, mi Corazon," she
said, "let your father be happy for his reasons.  You should be happy for
your own.  Hurting him is not going to do you good."

   That was sort of my mantra: Let others find satisfaction in what I did,
but I did it for me.

   Except ONE thing.  Sex.  Knew all about it.  After all, it was a big
portion of my dad's relationships to Stepmoms One through Three.  And
heaven knows, as soon as I had breasts (not that they're that big anyway) I
started getting urged to contribute to the happiness of any of several
boys.

   The only mother in my life spoke with me frankly about it, about how
love was still a reason.  "There are other reasons, too, mi Corazon.  I
know of many of them.  When I came to America, I had friends.  They found
they could make more money much faster by understanding those feelings."

   "Prostitution?"

   "Perhaps.  Or just trading their bodies for better pay in jobs like
mine. There is a cost, though, for many.  Unless your head and your heart
are both different than mine."

   I knew.  I read, you know.  Quite a lot, contemporary things, and I can
understand when the writer is glossing over the downsides of things to
justify a stance.  Free sex wasn't.  And it certainly wasn't free love. 
Mine wasn't free.  And I certainly didn't see anybody my age, or any other
age, for that matter, that I was going to let do me just so they'd hang
around me.

   Music.  Ah, music.  I had good teachers.  Dad paid well.  And with good
teachers and the desire to succeed and I guess, some natural talent, I was
first violin of the school orchestra.  That wasn't that big a deal because
the orchestra was small.  But my teacher made some phone calls and I got a
chance to play with the orchestra of a big public school, so I got to see
others my age.  The music was okay.

   The interactions with other students, well, not so much.  Most weren't
serious.  I don't understand why one would waste the time if it's not
serious.

   There were three others, though, that were serious and possessing more
than average talent.  We hung out together.  It was pretty good.  Music. 
Friends.  But then Brian started hitting on me.  At first it was kind of
cute and flattering and I sort of fended him off.  But lately he's making
me uncomfortable.  And I won't EVER be alone with him.

   The four of us went to a concert.  I mean, I'm sort of angling towards
that college anyway, so I try to go to any of their music functions I can.
That's where I saw Johanna and Stoney for the first time.  Johanna, I could
believe.  It's a chamber orchestra, and naturally they have a flutist.

   It wasn't even unusual that they chose her for the solo.  She's that
good.  But they brought out Stoney.  He was limping a bit, and carrying a
banjo.  I had all kinds of thoughts about that.  I know this
professor/conductor's reputation.  He's been known to bend the rules a bit
when it comes to classical music.  But a BANJO?  That's quite a bend.

   I recognized the music, even if it wasn't on the program and wasn't
announced.  Mozart is a genius, after all, and I know a lot of his works.
But this is supposed to be composed for flute and harp.

   Stoney made it work.  Not a note for note effort, you know, but
definitely right there with the original composition.  And when Jo started
playing...

   Jo is striking.  That almost carrot-red hair.  Those eyes.  And she was
wearing a black, floor-length dress that set her off like the setting of a
diamond: red hair, white skin, blue eyes, and of course, that silver flute.
When she came in to play her part alongside Stoney, she looked at him like
she was drawing something from him.  They connected.
After the concert the four of us in our little group stopped at a little
diner for coffee and donuts and talked.  One of them made some disparaging

remark about the place of a banjo in classical music.

   "Hmmph!  You call me when YOU can sit on stage and do a duet as well as
he did, Brian.  Pick your instrument.  And call me."

   "Don't get so serious," Brian said.  "I just don't look right."

   "You mean it 'doesn't' look right, and I question what looks have to do
with it, really.  It was masterful." I glared at him.  "And just because
somebody isn't playing classical music doesn't mean they can't master an
instrument anyway."

   My current music teacher was an old Jewish guy.  Since I got my driver's
license (and a car, thank you Daddy!) I went to Mister Tuchmann's studio
for lessons.

   "Don't get caught up, dear Kara.  Classical music is beauty.  I have
played it all my life.  But there is other music.  He picked up his violin,
tucked it under his chin, and began playing wild, exotic strains. 
"Klezmer. Music of my people who came from Eastern Europe.  Do you doubt
that to play it well, you need to be a master?" He smiled.  "A master can
play anything." He touched bow to string again.  This time it was Irish
reels.  Then he laid into Bluegrass.  "Surely you understand.  You can play
slovenly and try to tell others that it's the lack of real structure in
that musical genre.  But YOU, young violinist, will know."

   "Yes sir.  I will know."

   "Because you are honest with yourself." He smiled again.  "But dear
little one, never let lack of perfection, of mastery, stop you from playing
for the joy of it.  Yes, you need to practice.  Yes, you need to persevere.
But yes, also, you need to sit with your friends and play because you
delight in the sounds and in the fellowship."

   He looked at me, his wrinkled face smiling.  "Because at the end of the
day, dear Kara, music is more about making people feel than it is about us
mastering some instrument."

   That's what I saw with Stoney and Jo.  There was more than mastery at
work.

   Our group talked about seeing them play for us.  We really did.  But the
topic just sort of dropped.  Still, I couldn't get them out of my head.  I
used the group as pretext for calling them.  I don't know what I would've
done if Jo had turned out to be some businesslike thing.  But she wasn't.
She was nice on the phone.

   She was even nicer when I knocked on her door.  She invited me in like I
was a long-lost friend and we talked and I think we clicked.  I never did
what I did with Jo: open up my heart.  I did, the second time I visited
her. We exchanged sad experiences.  I felt stronger.

   Music, though.  She's brilliant in several genres, and when Stoney gets
home in the evening, he joins us.  Jo encourages him.  I laugh at the two
of them because he acts like he has no idea what he's doing and she
obviously believes that he does.  And the three of us have fun.

   I've watched people all my life.  I see what goes on between Dad and his
latest wife.  The dynamics, the body language, it's totally different
between them as opposed to what I see with Jo and Stoney.  It's like all of
a sudden I saw them as the exact opposite to the fakery that's been shown
to me so much in my life.  None of my friends, NONE, have both parents
still married to each other, and none of the adults in their families act
like Stoney and Jo.  That's sad.

   Jo and Stoney.  That's happy.  And they let me in on it.  It's easy to
see where this might be addictive.  I have to be careful, though.  I can't
take advantage of their good natures.  I don't want to wear out my welcome.

   I thought that's what happened when Johanna started suggesting that I
call these girls in Alabama.  I guess I show emotion too easily sometimes.
She read my face.

   "Oh, nooooo, Kara.  Look!  This is Cindy." She showed me a picture on
her phone.  "Wait!  Let me fire up my computer." That doesn't take long. 
She's got the same computer as me, a MacBook Pro.  "This is Cindy.  And
this is Nikki.  And Tina.  And Susan.  Four of 'em, and the average IQ for
the bunch is probably 138.  They're smart.  Like you!"

   "I dunno, Jo," I said.  "You have no idea how hard it was to work myself
up to talk to YOU."

   "Kara, I wouldn't suggest this if I thought for a minute they'd be in
any way hurtful to you.  But it's not just a wash, either.  Those girls are
my friends, too, and some of their stories are something you might begin to
relate to."

   "Parents?" I asked.

   "Or the lack thereof.  And Kara?"

   I looked at her.

   "They're happy in ways you will find amazing.  And they spread the joy.
Just call and chat."

   So I did.  I called.  Cindy.  She answered.  "Hi!  This is Cindy!" She
sounded younger than her actual fifteen years.  I wonder if there was that
much difference in me between fifteen and seventeen.  And she sounded nice.

   "Cindy, I'm Kara Sevinsky.  Johanna Jackson told me that I absolutely
MUST call you."

   "I'm glad you called.  Jo emailed me and told me that you might.  Said
you were somebody I, uh, we would want to talk with." She paused.  "She
says you're a masterful violinist, too."

   "Jo said that?"

   "Yes," Cindy said.  "And we've all heard Jo play, so if she says
'masterful', we believe her."

   I could feel my face glow as I blushed.  "She actually said that?"

   "Yes, she did.  Did she tell you that we're a community here?"

   "She said you had a community, yes.  Lots of music."

   "And engineering," Cindy told me.  "Music and engineering and friends
and families."

   "That's my shortcoming," I said to this almost total stranger.  "My
family's..."

   "You're not alone, Kara.  You don't have to be without family.  Or
friends you can trust."

   I don't know if she knew, but she pushed my button.  'Friends I can
trust.' 'Family.' Those are things I long for.

   "DO you have Skype?" Cindy asked.

   "Yes I do.  You wanna do that?"

   "Sure," she said.  "If you don't want others to listen in on the
conversation, you can use earbuds."

   "That's part of the problem, Cindy," I said.  "I already saw Dad for the
obligatory fathering period today.  All five minutes of perfunctory
conversation, the pat on the head, the pro forma hug.  And he's out the
door.  I have four thousand square feet of house to myself."

   "It was an eight by thirty-five travel trailer for me," she replied. 
"And when Mom brought home 'company', I got to listen to everything."

   "I was saddened that I had no shoes.  Then I saw a man with no feet..."

   "Gee, Kara ...  I don't mean to sound like mine's worse than yours. 
Really." Cindy said.

   "That's not what I mean, Cindy.  Really.  I didn't mean anything
disparaging.  It's just that sometimes I lose perspective."

   "I was just sharing notes, Kara.  You've got friends here, you know. 
And like Jo.  She's a musician.  A real one.  Most of us just play with it.
I sing.  My husband plays guitar.  Sim plays violin.  Nikki's Dan is trying
to get up to speed on a Cajun accordion..."

   "Really?  Cajun?  I've experimented with Cajun fiddle tunes.  They have
quite a tradition."

   Cindy's nose wrinkles when she giggles.  "I went to a fais do-do last
year with Dan.  He played bass in a Cajun band.  It was a hoot.  Uh, do you
know klezmer, too?"

   "My violin teacher is an old Jewish guy.  Yes, we've done some of that."

   "Sim is Jewish.  He does some.  Neat!"

   "But Jo tells me that you're an engineering student.  I kind of
thought..."

   Her nose crinkled again and she finished my sentence for me.  " ... 
That engineering students were hopeless geeks?  You know Jo and Stoney,
don't you?  He's a neat guy and Jo thinks he's IT!"

   "Well, but..." I spoke, "you're fifteen.  And in college..."

   "I know, right?!?" Cindy laughed.  "I'm supposed to be a freak.  I guess
I am in so many ways.  I'm married.  I graduated high school when I was
fourteen.  But honestly, I don't know how to be a freak.  I'm just me. 
Like you."

   "I'm just me..." I returned.

   "That's the best we can do sometimes, is be ourselves.  And as long as
we're decent, those that don't like us, they're the ones with problems."
Cindy sounds reassuring.  Her cellphone rang.  "Wait a second," she told
me.

   "'Kay!" I replied.

   "Hi, Nikki!" she spoke into her phone.  "No, I'm skyping with Kara in
Houston." Pause.  "Yeah, the one Jo told us about.  Why don't you come over
here.  We can gang up on 'er." Pause.  "Yeah.  The door's open.  Just come
on in!" She sat her phone down.  "Now you can meet Nikki.  One of my
sisters."

   "Sisters?"

   "Yeah," she said.  "We decided we were sisters."

   "You decided.  Just like that."

   I heard a door open in the background and then a set of blue eyes framed
in very dark brown hair showed up in my screen.  "Hey, Kara.  I'm Nikki!"

   "Hi, Nikki," I said.  "Tell me about this 'sister' thing."

   Nikki looked at Cindy.  "Yeah, we are.  We get to say.  You know how
there's 'common law marriage'?  Where all a couple has to do is say they're
married?  We're common law sisters." Together they grinned.  "So?  When are
you gonna come visit?  Or do we have to go over there?"

   "If it was just across town, or in the next county..." I said.

   "We dragged Stoney and Jo over here.  What makes you think we wouldn't
go get you?"



   ------

   Chapter 40

   Stoney's turn:

   I punched the button on my office phone.  Rang twice.  Sweet, happy
voice.  "Hi, my love."

   "Hi, my princess," I replied.  "I'm getting ready to walk out the door.
What's up for the evening?"

   "Me and you.  Some deli roast beef.  Muenster cheese.  Artisan ciabatta
rolls from the bakery up the street.  A bottle of Reisling.  And then ... I
have designs on your body..."

   "No Kara this evening?"

   "Nope.  We talked a bit ago.  She's got a Skype session with the bunch
in Alabama.  Chords are being struck, I do believe.  And I need my Stoney
time.  Clothing is NOT optional.  After the plates go in the washer,
clothes are FORBIDDEN."

   Now that's a pleasant set of thoughts.  "I'm on the way."

   Giggle.  "Don't sound so eager!"

   Yeah.  Like I can picture that redhead naked and NOT be eager.  "I love
you princess.  See you in a few!"

   I passed Brad's door as he was gathering his coat.  "Stoney," he said,
"you really need to fake a sad trudge when you're going home.  You make us
old married guys jealous."

   "Embrace your jealousy, buddy!  I'm going home to heaven!" And I'm
praying, "Please, Lord, let me get home safe.  I have Johanna waiting for
me."

   I was used to the traffic along the route between the office and the
apartment.  I was aroused.  I was expectant.  And I was hurrying.  Made it!

   Through the door and into the arms of my startlingly happy redhead.  The
kiss came before the words.  As they say in the army, no plan survives
first contact.

   I finally managed to sigh a "Jo..."

   "My Stoney.  I miss you like crazy." And then her lips silenced any
verbal reply I might entertain.

   Another break.  She was pushing me backward now.  I know the way to the
bedroom.  And I know that a giggling Johanna is a good thing.

   "I guess sandwiches are something for later." Plan?  What plan?

   "You betcha," she blurted as she tugged at my shirt buttons.  I took
over undressing myself.  She was wearing a loose sweatshirt, something she
shed with one graceful sweep, leaving her breathtakingly bra-less.  She
unfastened her jeans and with a wiggle, they were a cotton puddle at her
feet and I was pressed backward onto the mattress.

   "Let me get my stupid socks off, Princess," I said.

   "Oh, oooo-kay," she cooed.  "I know how you are..."

   I can't stand having socks on when the rest of me is nude.  Fifteen
seconds for the socks, okay?  Then a tangle of arms and legs and, "I want
to give you a kiss for every freckle."

   She giggled.  "Start kissing.  And who's keeping score?"

   I know how to derail her train of thought.  Of course, she knows how to
do the same for me, so it doesn't take long for any sort of plan to go out
the window in a cloud of squeals and moans and sighs and hisses and
monosyllabic vocabulary.

   In the luxuriously silent, aftershock-filled aftermath, we stayed in
each other's arms for a while before I got up, went into the bathroom, and
washed my face.  Don't know where it got all that stickiness from.  I
returned with a warm cloth and gently caressed her face with it, eliciting
purrs.

   "I suppose that now we need some clothes, in the interests of kitchen
safety," she said.

   "Yeah.  I guess.  Although you make a terrific naked chef."

   She giggled.  "I don't want us burning any useful bits, though.  So
clothes, okay?"

   "Okay." I had admitted to Jo that on occasion, usually hot days, I'd
lounged around the apartment in the nude, but I was by myself, the drapes
were closed, and I never tried cooking that way.  With Jo in my life, we'd
done nudity in private on a much more frequent basis.  I enjoy seeing her
nude.  Quite frankly, she's just pretty to look at.

   She says the same about me, but she's a lot more touchy-feely when we're
naked, too.  It's just fun.  Loving fun.  But I'm not cooking like that.

   The cooking was limited tonight to making hot roast beef sandwiches.  We
consumed those at the little table in the breakfast nook and we took our
wineglasses and the bottle back to the living room with us.  Mellowed the
evening somewhat.  Like any evening that I had Johanna with me wasn't
mellow enough.

   Okay, you have to extend that 'mellow' definition to include me wearing
my fingers out trying to keep up with her music abilities.  Even this
evening, you know, because she IS a concert musician and daily practice is
a requisite, and if Johanna's gonna do music, Stoney ain't gonna sit there
and just watch, wine or no wine.

   Well, actually, sometimes she tells me to sit back and listen, but since
I've got a partner to play music with, I don't let her pick up her flute
without expecting that she wants me to play alongside her for at least a
bit.  Johanna has taken a somewhat minor bit of relaxation in my life,
plunking on a banjo, and turned it into something major that we shared.

   Conversely, I'd taken her minor association with sailing and turned it
into something that was always near the top of the list of options for the
weekends.  Yes, the overnight bags in the closet, waiting to be packed on
Friday afternoon.

   Tonight, though, flute, banjo, music.  Some on sheets, made to be read
by artists and played on instruments not in our possession, some music in
our hearts, to be played with laughing eyes and smiles.

   And just because the instruments were back in their cases doesn't mean
that the playing is over.  She plays symphonies on my very being.  And I
play them on hers.

   Wednesday.  Work for me.  Class for Jo.  Mid-day text.  "Baby, I hope
you understand.  Kara's coming over for a visit."

   I replied "K.  Yes I understand." Because I did.  Friends, even troubled
youth friends, are a good thing.  'Course it helps that the 'troubled
youth' in question does to a violin what Jo does to a flute.  I'm hoping
that we can bring in Key and her oboe, but Key's been awfully Hutch-centric
of late.

   Going out the door on the way home, I received instructions to stop by
the Chinese place near the apartment to collect dinner.  When I got home I
was carrying my laptop and a bag full of odiferous cartons.  With both
hands full, I elbowed the doorbell, got let in by Kara and kissed by Jo and
we laid the spread out on the table.

   Amid the slurping and soft clicking of chopsticks we talked about
things.

   "You know, that bunch in Alabama, they're something," Kara said.  "I
wanna be there."

   ------

   This wasn't news.  For two weeks Kara has been consulting with the
Sisterhood.  That's a big circle that feeds information back to Johanna,
because, as her 'mini-me', Cindy says, "You're in on this too, you know."

   "Yes," Tina added to the Skype session, "You're just the oldest of the
Sisterhood."

   After that session, Jo snuggled up with me and intimated, "You know,
Stoney, there are a lot worse groups to find myself in."

   "I know," I said.  "And if I was going to pursue engineering, I think
that 3Sigma would be an interesting bunch to work with."

   She twisted to kiss me and restrain me within her arms.  "If only they
weren't land-locked up in Auburn." Then she giggled.  "Boat at a marina on
the Gulf Coast.  Plane in the hangar.  Little car in another hangar down on
the coast."

   "Takes money."

   "Solheim Limited.  Money."

   "You're thinking again, aren't you?"

   Little kisses on the corners of my mouth.  I do get the idea that I am
being manipulated.  "Yes.  You should've married some cow-breasted ditz
that thought reading the covers of the tabloids in the grocery checkout
line made her 'literary'." She sighed delightfully dramatically.  "But you
didn't, did you?  Oh, but nooooo, you had to go off and tag a musician with
a college background and an actual vocabulary."

   "And money."

   Giggle.  "Yes, but you didn't know that at first."

   "Nope.  Was looking at the 'poorer' end of that 'richer or poorer'
part." Truth.  Would have been perfectly happy with Johanna bumping around
whatever job she chose, her income just money to add to the respectable sum
(and savings) that I had.  A whole lot of people are a whole lot less
comfortable, monetarily speaking than Johanna and I would have been.

   "So we're not poor.  And we're learning to fly.  Because I don't want to
be the only sister in the family who can't fly a plane."

   "Who isn't too young to get a license."

   "Poor Cindy ...  She gets so frustrated."

   I chuckled.  "Nothing 'poor' about Cindy, you know.  Fifteen.  She's
gonna have the same degree I have before she's seventeen."

   Jo's eyes softened.  "Kara's like that.  Except she IS seventeen.  Very
smart.  Just abused in a whole different way.  If she'd had one of your
buddies over there in Alabama nudging her a bit, she'd be out of high
school and into college.  She's smarter than just the music."

   This I already knew.  Kara in a game of Trivial Pursuit was as
formidable as my Johanna.  She beat both of us, her normally repressed
demeanor taking a decidedly gleeful turn.  In the weeks since she started
coming over, she did seem different.  I said so to Jo.

   "And since she's been talking with the Sisterhood, they say the same
thing," Jo had added.

   The detritus from the meal went into the trash after we finished.  Hands
were washed.  The musical instruments came out.

   We practiced.  I guess it was practice, but it was more recreational
than pure exercise.  We worked our way through some sheet music, all
classical, and then went into some folk things, Celtic, Bluegrass.  Jo's
right.  Stick a violin into Kara's hands and she's a different person.

   We took a little break from playing.

   "I'm talking to my counselor at school," Kara said.

   "Problem?" I asked.

   "Oh, no, not in the traditional sense.  I want to move on."

   "Move on?" I saw something in my Johanna's eyes that told me that she
wasn't surprised by this conversation.

   "Yes.  I want to leave Houston."

   "Leave?" I questioned.

   "Yes.  I feel so isolated at ...  at home.  Since Ysabela left, I
haven't connected with any of the ladies who Dad's tried.  Dad's even more
distant since I'm a teen.  I think it's because I'm nearing the age of some
of his lady friends."

   Jo sat beside her, touching her forearm gently.  "You have us, you know,
Kara."

   "I know, Jo.  We talked.  But ...  Oh, Jo, YOU started this..."

   Jo turned to me.  "Stoney, she wants to move to Alabama."

   "Let me guess.  A certain community in Auburn." Two smiles told me I was
correct.  "That's a big step.  I have no doubt, though, that certain
arrangements are already being made at that end.  What's your dad going to
say?"

   "Daddy Dearest looked into private boarding schools before.  I think
he'd be relieved." Kara looked a bit sad.

   "And you think that Alabama is better?" I asked the question. 
Apparently Jo already knew the answer from previous conversation.

   "I do.  I know I'm going to college.  Auburn will work for me.  Dad
isn't going to be picky about that.  I have a sizable trust fund when I
graduate from college."

   "What about us?  Jo and I really don't mind you coming over at all." I
caught Jo's smile.

   Kara's face formed into a soft, gentle smile, a beautiful feature.  I
harbored the desire to see it more, finding it right behind my Johanna's.
Johanna's because she was my lifemate, Kara because she's young and
vulnerable and needs more smiling in her life.

   "You two..." Kara said, "you've given me something I was missing, and
then you introduced me to the gang in Alabama.  I didn't know I could be
somebody's sister from three states away.  But here I am." She kept
smiling. "Jo, you're my sister too, you know."

   "I know," Jo laughed.  "Mom was surprised to hear that I had siblings.
In her words, 'You, dear daughter, are the result of our only serious
sible.' I'm supposed to inform you that one must have parents who sible on
a serious level in order to acquire siblings."

   Kara chuckled.  "Your mom jokes with you.  And I did NOT know that
siblings were the result of having sibled."

   The 'sible' comment sounds like something that Bridgette would pop up.
Worse, it sounds like something that Johanna, Cindy, Nikki, Tina or Susan
would pop up.  That's the somewhat discomforting thing about the females of
the sisterhood.  They harbor common characteristics.  Intelligence and
humor are just two of them, and I'm sort of like my father-in-law.  I just
sort of listen and find humor and contentment in the woman I've married,
even though sometimes she has a quirky sense of humor.  At least, after
talking with her mom, I know that she comes by it honestly.

   Father-in-law swears that the Vikings raided Ireland to eradicate a
burgeoning nest of wise-asses.

   "And my buddy says you brought the pretty ones home."

   "And that's where the trouble started," Anders laughed.  "All those
Nordic types running around me when I was at the embassy, and I had to go
with the misplaced Hibernian."

   And here I am smiling because I married the delightful result.

   Kara's departure cleared the arena for the night's big event.  The
shared shower was the preliminary, Jo stroking me under the steamy mist
while she shuddered through an orgasm.

   "Dammit, Stoney ...  I don't know if I can recover enough coordination
to dry off."

   "I'll help..."

   "Ever the gentleman," she sighed, sagging in my arms.  "Towel me."

   By the time I finished lovingly drying her sleek body, she had
re-established enough lucidity to dry her own hair while I shaved.  After I
dried my face she handed me her brush.

   "Finish me."

   "Yes, ma'am."

   Giggle.  "You're not the only one that has a thing for his wife's hair,
you know."

   "Lemme guess.  Cindy."

   "The whole bunch.  All of 'em.  But you do it like you're
worshipping..."

   "I am.  Absolutely.  You are my goddess."

   She swung around to wrap me in her arms.  "You sure?  Sometimes I feel a
little too nymphy ...  sylphish."

   "Nope!  Pure goddess." As I picked up said goddess, carrying her nude
form in my arms, headed into the bedroom.  "You need to get away from that
whole 'Valkyrie' thing." I nuzzled her.  "Although you might look kinda hot
in a breastplate."

   "Beast!" she squealed.  The squeal was cut short when I deposited her
onto the bed.  It started again when I pushed my face into the softness of
her belly.  She likes her bellybutton kissed, but it completely destroys
her.

   She writhed with giggles and squeals, tugging at my head.  Tugging.  Go
up, Stoney.  Sometimes she pushes.

   I complied.  She pushed herself under me.

   "I want to be possessed.  Owned.  Controlled." And she pulled my face to
meet hers for kisses.  Who owns whom?  Better yet, who cares?

   Thirty minutes later, we're sliding back to earth.  Thirty minutes?  I'm
on my back, Jo is laying halfway across my chest.  She frees a hand,
strokes my face.  Purrs.

   "I like it right after you shave, you know."

   "Good enough reason for me to keep shaving."

   Giggle.  "Like it when you're a little stubbly too.  In fact, sir, I
just LIKE you.  Any way I can get you."

   "You got me." We drifted for a while together.

   "Stoney?  Have you looked at the forecast?  For the weekend, I mean?"

   "Not pretty Friday evening and Saturday.  Why?"

   "My Nordic half desires seafaring."

   "If sailing out into the bay counts as seafaring..." I started.

   "And my Celtic half is resigned to be carried off as plunder." Those
blue eyes laughed for me.

   "We can do that."

   "Good.  I will be out of plundering condition starting Monday."

   "Then we need to get as much plundering in as possible, huh?"

   "Yeah," she said.  "When you get home tomorrow I'll have the bags
packed."

   "You're nuts, you know.  Some kind of fantasy produced you."

   She smiled.  "Because I want to take my husband away from civilization
and have him to myself?"

   "Yeah..."

   "You like it, too, don't you?  I mean, you tell me that it's the main
reason you had the boat in the first place."

   "Yes, it was.  But I never imagined that any girl I'd ever meet would
see it like something she'd want to do."

   "Your imagination failed, Stoney." She crawled up on top of me, throwing
one leg over me.  I found myself amazed that I was once again erect. 
Equally amazing was her wiggling around to slide me inside her again.  She
knows.  She knows that she can ride me hard like this.  At least since it's
my second for the night, I can last a bit longer, and I can enjoy every
minute of it, right up to the point that the universe disappears in a
blinding light.

   After it's over, I'm immobile.  She takes that fluffy little towel off
the night stand and dabs at her pussy to catch the juice leaking from her,
then she wipes me off.  And she does the last, final touch as her head bobs
downward, sucking my flaccid dick into her mouth, the suction pulling the
last drops out of me.

   I'm not often this unresponsive, but Johanna and I have both had this
happen.  When it does, the conscious, mobile one coddles the other. 
Tonight's my night.  She spoons against me, close, and whispers in my ear,
"Stoney Jackson, I love you."

   "I love you too, my angel," I manage.

   The alarm woke us to whatever the classical music station was playing
the morning.  I have to be at work at eight.  Jo's Friday class is at nine.
She could sleep in.  Doesn't.

   While I'm washing my face and getting dressed, she's in the kitchen,
clad only in a t-shirt, starting coffee going for us.  When I get into the
kitchen, she's at the table, a bowl of granola in front of her.  Mine's on
the counter, waiting for me to add milk.

   Breakfast is small talk: My work, her school.  Plans for the day. 
Expectations.  I glanced at my watch.  Time to go.  I tossed back the last
sip of coffee, stood, caught Jo in my arms for a kiss, and left.

   Jo's turn:

   Coffee breath.  I figured out the cure for it.  There are several
things. Most important, be so passionate about your partner that you don't
care if HE has it, and second, make sure you're both drinking coffee and
who cares, right?

   Stoney's off to work.  I have an hour before I need to get out of the
door for my nine AM class.  It's a senior level Econ course, a hateful
nasty thing according to Stoney.  I find it somewhat interesting, and I
know that if I am to maintain my average, I must apply myself, so a little
skim through the assigned chapters of the textbook will sharpen me up for
class.

   I finally close the book and slip into my backpack.  Clothes.  I need
some.  It's not really cold out, just sort of unpleasantly overcast and
drippy.  Gonna be a good weekend for soup on the boat.  I mentally add good
bread and cheese to the shopping list in my head.

   Jeans.  Sweatshirt.  My slightly older athletic shoes.  It's cool enough
for the ski jacket.  I can leave it unzipped and I won't be too warm.  It's
one of those colorful high-tech looking things that would be at home on a
ski slope and this is Houston and for much of the city, snow is a myth from
the Northlands.  Still, I see a lot of these jackets, so I don't exactly
stick out in a crowd.

   Student parking is another thing.  Even as a senior, I think the
university still thinks that physical activity is essential to the complete
learning experience.  I find parking, but it's a walk, and the skies are
leaden, wanting to start that drippy, pre-frontal rain.  That's okay.  I
carry a collapsible umbrella in my backpack.

   That backpack impressed my little hubby.  Between Mom's sense of
practicality and Dad's military 'prepare for the contingencies' attitude, I
keep a few things that I might not need every day, but that would help me
if things went off-track.  The umbrella was one thing that stayed in there.
A little clothing repair kit was there, needles, thread, a few buttons,
some safety pins.  There was a multi-tool.  And a little tool kit.

   One thing that was missing was anything that LOOKED like a weapon. 
Knives, nunchaku, nothing like that, because one just never knew what
campus security would do if they found something like that.  Still, when I
laid out the inventory, Stoney laughed.

   "Shoulda known," he said.  "Just shoulda.  Nothing else about you even
comes close to the 'standard college girl' profile, so why should this?"

   Another thing.  Driver's license, student ID and a credit card are in a
little caddy in the pocket of my jeans.  I know a girl who had her backpack
snatched.  Lost her books.  The campus police found the backpack.  She got
her books back.  She didn't get her laptop or her wallet with EVERYTHING in
it.  Sure, she called to report the lost cards, so it didn't cost her much,
but there's that several days' wait, and then having to go to DMV to get a
new license and to the Student Services to get a new ID.  So I learned that
much.

   Anyway, I shouldered the bag over one shoulder and started walking
toward the campus.  There's a flow of students from this lot, so I merged
into it, saw a few familiar faces.  That means the exchange of pleasantries
and miseries.  Just plain ol' campus life, I guess.  Except some of those
people are struggling with all the struggles that accompany that phase in
many people's lives: academics, relationships, money, a few other things
that I don't want to imagine.  Or can't.  The stream of young academics
branches out onto campus.  I and a couple of others end up in the same
building.

   Ten minutes early for class.  I chat with some of my fellow students. 
Like Clarissa.  She's, as Stoney says, your standard brown-haired girl. 
We've had lunch a time or two, but her tastes in music are just exactly
wrong.  Classwork.  "Despite my name, I can't explain shit!" she says.  "I
am struggling."

   "Clare," I said, "You had a 'B' last semester."

   "And I struggled to get that," she moaned.  "And this one is worse."

   "We'll get through it," I said.

   "I just wanna graduate so I can stop having to achieve, achieve,
achieve."

   "And what sort of situation is going to give you that option?" I asked.

   "Marry Grant." I saw her fiancee's picture on her phone before.  She
continued, "Get an entry-level analyst job at that company I interned with
last summer, parlay up a couple of levels, then step off onto the 'mommy'
track while Grant plays lawyer."

   I laughed.

   "Don't laugh at me, Johanna ex-Solheim, now Jackson," she said.  "You
know you're doing the same thing."

   "Except musical," I said.  Clarissa wasn't privy to the knowledge of my
trust fund.

   "If I can live through the next four months," Clarissa sighed.  She
flipped open her laptop and booted it.  "So!  This thing about mobile
markets."

   "Market mobility," I laughed.  One reason I connected with her was her
sense of humor.

   Walking back to the car after the class, I noted that my old 'friend'
David was walking across the campus.  I don't think he saw me.  To be
honest, I don't care, but I'd rather not have to deal with him.  I can't
help but think that he's not going to be favorable towards me.  After that
incident, he did indeed spend some time in reconstructive oral surgery. 
Missed the remainder of the fall semester.  And I heard he never did get
his lip back right to play trumpet.  I guess I can scratch him off the
'Johanna Fan Club' roster.

   Homeward bound.  Stop at the bakery for some artisan bread.  At the
market for some cheese.  A couple of 'em, actually.  I know what Stoney
likes.  Cheese is one of them.

   And at home, I packed our bags for the weekend.  I kicked back
afterward, waiting on my hubby, getting some studying in, looking out the
window at the rain starting.

   And at four o'clock, the phone ripped loose with a banjo break.  Stoney.

   "Hi, my Stoney," I answered.

   "Hi, cutie," he returned.  "Weather's miserable.  So..."

   "We're packed.  Boat.  Foul weather gear.  Anchor.  Me and you."

   "You're absolutely nuts, you know."

   "I know.  And you LOVE nuts."



   ------

   Chapter 41

   Kara's turn:

   I feel like Balboa.  You remember him, don't you?  And no, NOT Rocky. 
He's the guy who 'discovered' the Pacific Ocean, at least from the
Eurocentric point of view.  That's how I feel after meeting Jo and Stoney
and subsequently the girls in that community in Alabama: like I walked out
of the jungle and there's a whole ocean just waiting for me.

   I'm seventeen.  It's time that I start taking some actions to control my
own life.  It hasn't been easy.  I'm not a poor kid, at least as far as
money is concerned.  Dad's got plenty.  He's a very successful man, both as
an attorney and as a keeper of arm candy.  He's just not doing a very good
job of being a dad.  There's more to parenting than providing a house and
meals.

   And a car.  And any kind of music tutor I thought I needed.  When Mom
died, I was a budding violinist.  The night they buried her, I locked the
door to my room and I played my violin, every sad song I could work up, and
that night I determined that I was not doing credit to her memory with that
level of skill.  Love, yes.  But something clicked and I decided that those
evenings that Mom sat there as my beginner's screeches slowly turned into
identifiable music, those evenings that she sat through my recitals, I
didn't have much to give back to Mom, but music was in my power.

   Another power I had was not to fall into the trap she fell into, the
trap that produced me.  I don't know how it all works, but I know that I'm
not going to go off the deep end over some young lawyer with a fancy little
car.

   I was different in school for a lot of reasons.  First reason is that I
turned out to be intelligent.  Must've been a mutation.  Mom was the proud
possessor of a two-year degree from community college.  Dad's a lawyer.  I
never saw him as particularly smart, but I guess I looked at it wrong. 
He's a trial lawyer, and a successful one.  Somewhere between the two of
them, I was born with a brain.

   Early on, my teachers learned that they didn't need to spend time
explaining and coaching me to get me up to grade level.  Those that did
have enough time to coach me just sort of encouraged me to expand outside
the limits of the curriculum.

   Second red flag was that I was not very friendly.  I'm described as an
introvert.  It got worse when Mom died.

   When Mom died.  How is a kid supposed to handle that?  Mom went off the
deep end.  I think she was a trusting soul when she started with Dad, and
when she got pregnant with me, they married.  And when he moved to a new
law firm, they divorced.  I don't think that Mom and daughter were what he
had in mind for his life.

   It mattered little to him.  It killed Mom.  Underneath the shiny (Mom's
pictures from her young days are beautiful) exterior, Mom had an
old-fashioned heart.  I think she was under the impression that words mean
things, especially words like 'until death do you part'.  Wrecked Mom.

   It wasn't overnight.  Took years.  She kept getting worse and worse,
tried catching a replacement for the man missing in her life.  Even a
single mom with a little kid (to start) can have a parade of guys through
her life.  I watched her really get serious more than once, and when things
turned out wrong, she ended up a basket case.

   Mom would end up in a hospital.  I'd end up at the grandparents until
Grandma died.  Grandpa wasn't equipped to handle a little girlchild.  I
started ending up at Dad's.

   First few times, I think he really tried incorporating me into his life
alongside whichever wife or girlfriend he was with, but it became readily
apparent that the women in Dad's life weren't the types to want to be
raising somebody else's daughter.  I found that if school was out, it was
easy for Dad to write a check and send me off to one camp or another.

   Somewhere in one of the cycles where I was with Mom, I started playing
violin in the school orchestra.  Mom endured some sounds from my early days
that sounded like I was torturing cats, but I quickly found that first, I
had some natural gift and second, I LIKED music.

   Music is a refuge.  Music is leveling.  You can't fake it.  You can't
cheat and copy somebody's work.  You're standing or sitting there, you,
your instrument, a sheet of music, and you perform.  Everybody knows
whether you're good or less than good.  For somebody with a bit of talent
and a bit of desire to do well, it is a refuge.  My refuge.

   When I felt like I was an outsider or I was uncomfortable at school,
entering the music room was instant relief.  Part of it was that I wasn't
the only one who saw orchestra as a safe haven.

   Other part  -" academics.  I am a 'smart kid'.  I don't brag about it,
but you should know.  Last thing Mom needed to worry about was a pouty,
stupid kid who stayed in trouble at school.  That's a good reason to get
good grades and stay out of trouble.  Altruistic.  The selfish one was that
I understood early in life that learning was beneficial to me.  And fun. 
Given the choice to goof off for some short-term fun versus somewhat less
pleasant duty to dive into the classwork, I chose the latter.

   I can't remember ever getting anything less than almost perfect grades
when I attended regular school.  It is only since Daddy Dearest put me in
private school that I found myself actually having to study a bit to get
that hundred percent instead of a mere ninety-five.

   As I matured, for a while it seemed like Mom was leveling out.  And
then, one more guy.  She went off the deep end again and back to one of
those hospitals.  I went to Dad's.  Spent a lot of time crying.  More time
playing.  Did a recital.  Dad actually showed up.  Latest 'stepmom' looked
like second runner-up in a Barbie lookalike contest.  I guess she tried
talking to me, but she was only ten years older than me, had zero skills
not tied to her bra size.  I can be standoffish.

   I had one friend in that house, Dad's Guatemalan housekeeper, Ysabela.
Ysabela, of Indian ancestry, dark-eyed, plump, raven-haired, and speaker of
excellent English.  I hounded her for Spanish.  I was taking it in school,
and having her to converse with, I learned a lot that the class and the
books didn't teach.

   Ysabela was far from uneducated.  She was just the oldest of her
sisters, and being in the States she could make enough money to live here
as well as send money home and put back a bit of savings.  Dad paid her
well for her position.  She didn't mind me sitting in the kitchen talking
with her, even at first.  After a while she treated me like her little
sister.  She had a sister my age back home, so I was a convenient
substitute in a lot of ways.

   None of this would have happened but for her abilities in English.  And
she was a caring person.  Surrogate mom/sister.  In loco parentis.  REAL
parental type.

   Ysabela's place in my life solidified when Mom died.  Dad said something
he thought was fatherly about life choices.  Hugged me, until my tears
started to stain his shirt.  Brought me home, sitting in the back seat
while he and current wife sat in the front.

   I went to my room.  Stayed there.  Pulled my violin out and played a few
songs that Mom knew.  Cried.  Played some more.  Cried some more.

   Gentle knock on the door.

   "Come in."

   Ysabela with a tray covered with a white cloth.  "Kara.  I am so sorry.
I made these for you." She presented me with a plate of little tamales
wrapped in real banana leaf wrappings.  "Do you wish to talk?"

   Plump, middle-aged Guatemalan friends are a good place to cry one's soul
out.

   I decided that I needed to get on with life.  Dad's house was my only
real option for living.  Since Mom's mother died, her dad was in no
position to care for a teen girl and Dad was, well, my father, and he's
supposed to do it.

   He made it mostly comfortable, at least from a material standpoint.  I
was fed and clothed.  And schooled.  Dad tried putting me into the local
public school system, but it was disastrous.  I got my purse stolen twice
in three days.  The second time I caught the thief red-handed and got into
a physical altercation.

   I ended up in a private school after Dad pulled a few strings to bypass
the waiting list.  That's where I am today.  Further, since I WANTED to get
further along with the violin, dear old Dad popped for some of the best
tutors available.

   Some of those guys won't be bought.  They only select students with
promise.  I got that kind of tutor, and I went twice a week and practiced
interminable hours at home.

   Got selected for the local student honors orchestra.  First chair
violinist.  I was proud.  My teachers were proud.  Dad gave me a car. 
That's nice.  I can get around without resorting to Ysabela or the yard and
house guy, Jorge, driving me.  Or Dad or Mommie Dearest.  Oh, I shouldn't
be so snarky.  She really tries, in her own way.

   Anyway, with the orchestra and the 4.0 grade point average, I had no
more pressure in school than I wanted to accept.  I pushed myself.  Daddy
Dearest was quite happy to see my grades and he stayed out of the way when
my social life included a group of music geeks like me.  I had friends.

   That's a good thing.  We would all load up in one or two cars and go to
recitals and concerts together, and we'd get together at one house or
another, mine being VERY popular, and practice and play.

   I could've been quite happy just going along like that, but one of the
two guys in our little group, Mikel (Why didn't his parents just name him
'Michael'?  That's how they pronounce his name anyway.) decided that he and
I needed to be more than just friends with common interests.

   He started hitting on me, and not very subtle, he was.  What he lacked
in sublety he made up for in persistence.  I said 'No' a lot.  Started
adding exclamation points, as in 'No!!!!'.

   That's where Kara Sevinsky was in life.  We went to a concert. 
University orchestra.  Right before Christmas.  I'd been to a few.  They
have some good players for soloists and overall they're very competent.

   That's the night I saw Johanna and Stoney play together for the first
time.  I'd seen Jo before.  She's beautiful AND talented.  Stoney, though,
that's a new one on me.  The conductor, who is also the professor for much
of the music program, introduced the performance as a duet, Mozart's
Concerto for Flute and Harp, then announced that since they didn't have a
harp, they made a substitution.

   Guy with a banjo.  Limping.  A scar I could plainly see from my seat in
the third row.

   Now I trust the professor.  I've been attending his recitals for a
couple of years.  Well, a year and a half, since I got my car.  I knew
Johanna.  I'd seen her play.  I'd seen several others, including that
trumpet player with the cocky smirk.  So I trust the professor.

   But I NEVER saw a banjo on stage, not in a classical venue.  But I
watched this guy sit in a chair in front of the orchestra, and I saw
Johanna stand just a bit away from him, look at him and smile.  It wasn't
one of those 'we're going to play well' smile.  This was different. 
Richer. Deeper.  Brighter.

   And Doctor Bob raised his baton, the orchestra did the introductory
measures.  In the third movement of this concerto, the harp leads off on
the flute and harp duet.  I should have known better.  I was totally
unprepared for what I saw and heard.  Stoney had a look of concentration
when his cue came.  He launched into it, found his zone, and from that zone
HE looked at Johanna.  Love!  They're in love.  I could see it.  And their
music was communication.

   I'm familiar with that piece.  Stoney's arrangement wasn't identical to
Mozart's original composition, but I knew that he was right in there with
it, carrying the spirit of the piece with him, tossing it to Johanna,
catching it back.  I was impressed.  The audience gave a standing ovation.
I was one of the first to stand.

   I noted that they were passing out business cards announcing Rara Avis,
Latin for 'Rare Bird'.  I snagged one and called her.  I made a poor run at
prevarication, telling her that I was interested in them playing for me and
my friends, but I was really acting on some incomprehensible feeling that
Johanna was a gatekeeper to the life I desired.

   A few days later I was at their apartment.  They're married.  And
Johanna is disarmingly nice.

   First, we talked about music.  I know she's talented.  I've heard.  I
know she's in college.  And after we played, she, I, and Stoney, I could
see that she's in love with her music just as much as she's in love with
Stoney.

   Second, she's smart.  Almost 4.0 in college for one thing.  But when we
talk, I see and hear that it's not just the hoops one must jump through to
get a piece of paper.  She really is smart.

   And mainly, she's supportive and understanding.

   As a couple, Jo and Stoney didn't seem the least bit uncomfortable
inviting me into their home.  I found out that they're practically
newlyweds, but they never acted like I was interfering with their lives.

   "Oh, don't be silly," Johanna had answered when I questioned her on the
subject.  "There's more to married life than just sex.  Friends are very
important, too.  You've seen Key and Hutch drop by.  And the Hlinkas, when
they hear us playing.  You, you're always welcome."

   I felt that way.  I felt even better one afternoon when she took a call.

   "Hey, little redheaded sister," she said.  Pause.  "No, just hangin' out
with Kara." Pause.  "Great idea.  Let me boot my MacBook!  We'll see you
there."

   She turned to me.  "It's time you met Cindy."

   ------

   Now you need to know that by this time I've seen the pictures of that
group in Alabama and I've heard some of the stories.  That they were all in
college together, that was not too abnormal.  Then I found out the ages. 
And that they were married.  Cindy I knew to be fourteen.  And married.  My
senses peaked at that revelation because, frankly it sounds like
exploitation.

   I mentioned that to Jo.

   "You'd think, wouldn't you?" she said.  "But take age out of the
picture, and you've got a college girl married to a middle-aged engineer."

   I laughed.  "I see what you're doing, Jo."

   "Well, let's see.  She's in college.  Very much in love.  And her
husband adores her."

   "And she's almost but not quite as red-headed as YOU," I said.  "Okay,
if Johanna of the Red Hair is not squicked out over it, then neither shall
Kara be disturbed."

   "And she and that gang are GOOD people.  All of 'em.  And like a certain
brown-haired musician I know, they are terribly smart."

   So seeing Cindy's smile on the computer screen is a definite step up
from a hi-res picture.  The three of us chatted for a bit and then I heard
a younger voice in the background.

   "Whatcha doin', Aunt Cindy?"

   "Chatting with a new friend in Houston.  She's here with Johanna."

   Jo smiled.  I caught the 'new friend' comment.  And I saw a young
(younger than fifteen year old Cindy by quite a bit) blue-eyed blonde face
pop into the screen.

   "Hi, Cindy's new friend.  I'm Terri."

   "Hi, Terri-dactyl," Jo said.

   Terri giggled.  "Hi, my missing Aunt Johanna."

   Cindy giggled.  "Terri, stop that!"

   "Well, she needs to know that I like 'er."

   "She knows."

   "'Kay!" Terri said.  "See!  Aunt Cindy knows you're my missing aunt!"

   "Scoot!" Cindy said.  Terri bounced off-screen.

   "See, Jo!  You're a topic here."

   "I'm glad.  I like that status." She smiled.  "And I wanted to introduce
you to MY sister." She giggled.  "You don't think you're the ONLY ones who
can build an ad hoc family, do you?"

   I felt my knees weaken.  That's the first time that Johanna had ever
referred to me as her sister.  It's wonderful to be claimed, accepted,
acknowledged.

   So from that first contact, I developed a long-distance set of friends.
No, I didn't abandon Jo and Stoney, not by a long shot.  It's just that I
had somebody else to talk with.

   A whole bunch of somebodies, if you want to know the truth.  From Cindy
(and Terri) I added Nikki, Tina and Susan and various mates.

   So!  School work!  You know I'm an 'A' student, right?  And I've taken
placement tests.  And I am angling towards graduating this spring.  That's
all good stuff.

   But then I was talking to Cindy one night about school work.

   "I dunno," she said.  "You have to understand, my entire high school
experience was a week and the teachers ran me out of the classrooms so they
could work with the kids who really needed it."

   "I could be there," I said.  "Except it's a private school." We talked
every evening for a bit, sometimes just Cindy, sometimes Cindy and one or
more of the gang, a couple of times it was Nikki.  Nikki's the one I was
talking to when I mentioned math.

   "I'm sorry, Nikki, but I just REALLY don't get it.  Everybody acts like
this stuff is so hard.  I had this ONE good teacher last year who told me
that I needed to understand principles, so I started looking and..."

   "And it's like two plus two equals four, right?"

   "Yeah!  Exactly!"

   "You're a musical prodigy, right?"

   I was a bit startled that that choice of words.  "I dunno about that," I
said.

   "Jo says you are.  Sometimes the brain works in wondrous ways.  So math
...  Can we look at some stuff?"

   She sent me some problems.  I looked.  We talked.  "I'm callin' Cindy,"
she said.

   "Okay.  Why?"

   "Cindy's the one that got me out of the closet in math, so to speak,"
she smiled.  "You may be the next one."

   We tried skyping Cindy.  No luck.  "She doesn't show a 'do not disturb'
tag on the calendar," Nikki said.

   "Do not disturb.  On the calendar?  What's that?"

   Nikki explained to me the role the community calendar played in
facilitating private time.  It's a neat idea.  "I'm calling her." She
punched her iPhone.  "Cindy!  Get on Skype with me 'n' Kara.  It's kind of
important."

   My redheaded sister's face popped up.  The three of us talked about
math, a discussion that went wayyyy above the stuff at school.

   "We need to talk to Bren and Ram, don't you think?" Cindy asked Nikki.

   "That's what I'm seeing, too," Nikki said.

   "Who're Bren and Ram?" I asked.

   Cindy giggled.  "The most abuse I ever suffered in my life up to that
point.  They're professors in the Math Department.  One of the reasons
we're where we are in college."

   "Shouldn't that be TWO of the reasons?" I retorted.

   Nikki giggled.  "See, Cindy?  She SHOULD be!"

   "Be what?" I questioned.

   "Be here.  With us." Nikki said it, but Cindy was nodding agreement. 
And I'd already been thinking about it.

   Two days later I got a phone call from Doctor Bren.  "If Cindy or Nikki
say I need to talk to you, then I know I need to talk to you."

   We talked for almost an hour.  He asked a lot of questions.  I had a lot
of answers.

   "Be honest with me, Kara.  How much coaching did you get from the
Dynamic Duo?"

   "Dynamic Duo?" I asked.

   "Yeah, Cindy Richards and Nikki Granger.  I wish I had 'em in my
program. Engineers.  They wanna be engineers."

   "They told me that you and Doctor Ramathani gave them the worst academic
days of their lives up to that point.  That you two would start simple and
get much more complicated.  But they did no coaching."

   "Okay.  I suspected that my little friends were completely honest with
me.  How are you sitting in high school right now?"

   "I'm in a private school.  Just rolling along."

   "Not having trouble?"

   "Doctor Bren, the only trouble I have is staying awake in class and
keeping myself challenged.  I could skate through."

   "Then I have a question.  Would you be up for a visit?"

   "You're coming here?"

   "It would be much easier if you come visit us here."

   "You're serious."

   "Yes I am.  And Cindy says bring your violin."

   "She would," I laughed.  I was feeling a bit giddy.  "Let me work on it.
Gimme an email address."

   I wrote it down carefully.

   When we hung up, I texted Cindy and Nikki.  "What have u done????"

   Got an immediate phone call.  Cindy.

   "Am I to assume that you got a phone call from the math department?"

   "Yes.  And he worked me over pretty good over the phone."

   "And..." she squealed.

   "And I need to get Dad's okay and then see what it takes to get to
Alabama."

   "You're gonna cause Maddie and Anita to move," Cindy said.  "They have a
two-bedroom apartment.  We have a three-bedroom that's open.  That would
give you a place to live."

   Okay.  I didn't squeal out loud.



   ------

   Chapter 42

   Stoney's turn:

   So let's see where we're at now.  I have a rollicking good life.  There
were long, lonely nights in the not too far past that I despaired of
finding the person who would fill the void in my soul.  As I sit here, eyes
closed to repair the strain from staring at the diagram on my monitor,
there's a little metallic blue Japanese car leaving the campus of the
university, headed to what used to be my apartment.

   It's not my apartment now.  It's ours.  The driver of that little blue
car has a head of red hair that clashes wildly with metallic blue.  Those
blue eyes of hers make the hair even more outrageous, and the fact that
those are only the outside of the package, well, for most of my life I
didn't know what to dream of.  Now I'm married to her.

   Other than the shooting on our wedding day and that whole car wreck
thing, life has been idyllic.  I've gained a delightful conversationalist
with a wicked sense of humor, somebody who is comfortable everywhere we've
been, somebody who meshed with my meager musical talents and actually had
me on stage in front of a chamber orchestra in front of a real audience.

   And she thinks my boat, no, OUR boat, is a happy refuge.  I always
thought of the boat in terms of solitude before.  Yes, I occasionally
brought friends out, but since Jo came along, it's a place for the two of
us to be.

   And right now I'm daydreaming on my job, thinking about getting HOME to
her.  Stoney, you've died and gone to heaven.

   My computer emitted that annoying 'incoming mail' tone.  I opened the
email, gathering another piece of the puzzle that was my project, sighed,
and went back to work.

   I was looking at the output report of an electrical analysis program
when Brad stopped by.

   "Brought you the last donut," he said, presenting me with a cold donut
on a napkin.  "You can stand it.  I can't.  If I give it to you, then I
gain karma points."

   "You need all you can get," I laughed.

   "So how's Jo's new friend working out?"

   "Kara?  Delightful."

   "Doesn't that sort of crimp your newlywed lifestyle?"

   "Not too bad.  Kara's not there every day, she doesn't just show up, and
even though I am a magnificent male specimen and truly a reason for you to
be jealous, even I can't do that ALL the time."

   He laughed because this was a common conversation between us, me and my
young pretty wife, him an old married man.  Of course, I've seen pictures
of him and his wife when they were younger, and she was a pretty young
thing as well.  A man should be happy with his wife.

   "We had fun trying," he laughed.

   "Besides, I think Kara's angling for a move to Alabama."

   "Alabama?  She'd leave a garden spot like Houston for Alabama?"

   "Auburn University.  A bunch of like minds in a community."

   "Auburn?" Brad shook his head.  "Drake's from Auburn.  He's useless as
nipples on a lizard."

   "Yeah, and you're from Texas A&M, and we don't hold that against them,"
I snorted.

   "So you're getting lined up to rescue another orphan?"

   "Oh, I leave that up to Jo.  I'm just along for the ride."

   "I know the feeling, buddy," he laughed.  He turned and continued up the
hall.  I went back to work, one eye on a wall clock that was apparently
running at quarter speed.

   It did indeed finally reach four-thirty.  I shut my computer down,
un-docked it and stuck it in my backpack, and headed out into the parking
garage.  In the car I stuck a Bluetooth headset on my ear, cranked the car,
and as soon as I was crawling out of the garage, I punched the button. 
"Johanna, mobile," I commanded Siri.

   I got the expected happy voice on the other end.  "Hello, my love!"

   "Hi, cutie," I replied.  "Just wanted you to know I'm on the road."

   "I'll be here."

   "What's our plan for the evening?"

   "You.  Me.  Whatever pops up." Giggle.  "Gym night tonight, then..."

   "Hold that thought," I laughed.  I clicked my Bluetooth off.  Drive in
traffic?  Forgive me for being a little paranoid.  I was walking mostly
normal, now, though.  Gym nights helped.  I didn't exactly relish the idea
of paying somebody for the privilege of making me sweat, but there was a
trainer at the gym who understood what I needed.  When I started showing up
with Johanna, he saw WHY I needed it.

   And yes, Jo and I had put on the pads and had a go at one another on the
mats a few times.  I found that if she had the rubber training knife in her
hand, I soon found it stuck in some sensitive part of my body.

   The first time the trainer saw us working out, he shook his head.  She
flipped the rubber knife at him.  "Rape whistle, indeed!" she uttered.

   He approached me later about the comment.  "I suppose I'm missing part
of the story." I gave him a bit of it.

   "Uh, you carry?" he asked me.

   "Yep.  Everywhere it's legal.  She does, too, since we got married."

   "Yeah, you know, I always thought that people who got their permit were,
like, paranoid."

   "I'm glad I did, Wayne," I replied.  "And who'd've thought?  I mean, we
were right there on the main drag in Galveston.  Twenty yards from a club
with a huge crowd all over the place."

   "Didn't think it was legal to carry where they served alcohol."

   "Isn't," I answered.  "We were just walking past the place on the way
back to the hotel."

   "Oh, I see."

   "The dude pulled a knife.  There were two of 'em against me and Jo.  And
they thought we were unarmed.  I would've fought, but..."

   "Yeah, I know," he said.  "You ain't supposed to LET it be a fair
fight."

   "Not with that redhead behind me."

   When Jo and I left, she asked me about the conversation.  I gave her the
recap.

   "Yeah, I got that when I talked about it at school," Jo said.  "Most
places are safe.  Except when they're not." She sighed.  "Not to change the
subject, but..."

   "Changing the subject," I laughed.

   "Yeah.  That girl in the blue outfit..."

   We don't go to the gym in a vacuum.  There are other clients there.  I
noticed the one she identified.  Of course, I noted every one in the place.
But this one...  "Yeah.  She's been there before."

   "Do you think she's nice-looking?"

   Oh, boy ...  the minefield of interpersonal relationships.  And here's
one.  Let's try 'honest' this time.  After all, I'm talking to my Johanna,
my friend, my chosen mate.  "Yes, she is.  But not nearly up to YOUR
standard."

   "Her breasts..." Jo was small-breasted.  She'd told me tales of high
school and 'flat as the flute player' taunts, so I knew it was a matter of
a tender spot.

   "Yeah, she really needs to rethink that sports bra."

   "SO you looked..."

   "I look at a lot of things.  And if I looked right past her, there was
this really neat redhead on a Stairmaster that REALLY floats my boat."

   "But..."

   "But nothing.  Discount the sports bra.  Makeup.  She wears makeup to
the gym.  Hair.  That color isn't found any further than ten clicks from
Chernobyl without spending hours exposed to chemicals that I have wear a
HazMat suit to work with in the field.  And nails.  Wonder how they'd hold
up to hauling in eighty feet of muddy Galveston Bay anchor rode."

   "But tits..."

   "Jo, my sweetest of all woodland nymphs, I adore yours.  And she
probably isn't a tenth of the musician nor a quarter of the punster and
doesn't know a halyard from an Irish pennant."

   I got punched in the arm.  Then a giggle.  I knew I'd survived the test.

   "Sir, we've HAD this talk.  The Irish as a sea-faring race were entirely
capable on our own.  I have within my veins the blood of Saint Brendan."

   "And he probably had Irish pennants." 'Irish pennant' is a term started
by the British Navy, referencing the perceived lackadaisical attention that
an Irish vessel paid to neatness and attention to detail.  It was usually
applied to frayed and dangling cordage.

   "We'd've been much better had we not been continually raided by Vikings
and those nasty British," she retorted.  "So, all this nautical talk ... 
Any night this weekend?"

   I know now that adverse weather is no excuse to this girl.  Storm?  Set
the GOOD anchor and ride it out below.  Cold?  Cabin heater and hot soup.
Beautiful day?  "Set the sail and let's GO!" And after all, I bought the
boat because I liked to sail.  So "Yeah, I think..."

   "I'll have us packed when you get home tomorrow."

   "What about Kara?"

   "Oh, Kara's okay.  You know she's thinking of pulling her diploma early
and moving to Alabama?"

   "You mentioned that.  So she's serious?"

   "Oh, yes.  Last word, she was going to talk to her dad."

   "Sounds serious."

   That's when we found out the latest news from Alabama.  Jo's cellphone
rang.  She answered it with her normal cheer, then went "OhMyGod!" and
listened.  Finally, "Everybody's okay?" Pause.  "Good!  We love you too. 
Hug Susan and Nikki.  And tell Nikki we're proud of 'er." And hung up.

   "What was that about?" I questioned.

   "You're not going to believe this..."

   "I started believing a lot of things since we met that bunch," I said.

   "Would you believe that Nikki killed a guy with a ballpoint pen?"

   Okay ...  my bullshit meter pegged.  "No."

   "She did.  Guy jumped Susan.  Tried to rape 'er.  Nikki came up behind
'im and stuck a pen in the side of his head."

   "Ouch!  You're serious."

   "Yes.  And what were we talking about?  Nice and safe one minute, combat
the next."

   "Everybody's okay?  Nikki?  Susan?"

   "Except the guy at the morgue." She pulled as close to me as the SUV's
console would allow.  "My little friend..."

   "There's something about that bunch.  Some kind of attitude that just
hangs over them all." I saw it.  Jo saw it.  Something that just said
'Watch out for US!'

   "And we're part of it." Jo's tone was one of some finality.

   I'd toyed with the idea myself.  "Yeah, I guess we are."

   "Still want a night or two on the boat, though.  We can stay in touch,
but honestly, if there's ever a group that can take care of itself, it's
stashed in an apartment building in Auburn, Alabama." She folded her arms.
Said one word.  "Nikki."

   We got home, did grilled cheese sandwiches and salads for dinner. 
Showered.  Ended up on the sofa, a couple of laptops out, hers to catch up
on the latest news from Alabama, mine to check weekend weather forecasts.
And looking at airplanes for sale.

   ------

   Yeah, THAT thing.  In two weeks we were both going to meet a flight
examiner for our private license tests.  We'd done well: Passed the written
easily on the first try.  Progressed right through the flight training.  I
was standing on the apron of the airport with the guy who was doing our
flight training, watching Jo coming back from a solo session.

   "Give it to me straight, Trevor," I said to him.  "Who's better, me or
her?"

   "Now if I was all tactful and mindful of your feelings, I'd soft-pedal
this," he chuckled.  "You're plenty good.  But she has a way of just adding
a little finesse.  Like art."

   "She IS the artist in the family," I said.  "And we both started this at
the same time."

   "Maybe it's that 'artist' thing," Trevor opined.  "You're an engineer.
You're all about forces acting on objects, equations, curves and stuff. 
She's about flows and symmetries and harmonies."

   "You're a philosopher as well as a flight instructor?"

   "Neither of which pays particularly well," he laughed, shaking his head.
"My choice, though." I was standing with Trevor on the apron outside the
office when she taxied up and stopped.  He's right.  She was smooth.

   In the car headed home, I commented.

   She smiled.  "Some times call for staccato, some times call for legato.
I thought that one smooth flow to the tiedown made sense.  No wear and tear
on the tires and the brakes.  Finesse." Bigger smile.  She knows.

   "You're really something," I stated.

   "Oh, what KIND of something, sir?"

   "The something that makes me want to write sagas about our voyages, sing
songs about our love, and quietly console all who see us and wish their
happiness could equal ours."

   "You silver-tongued devil, you!"

   ------

   Next week was supposed to be our flight tests for a couple of private
licenses.  Excited?  Yes!  Both of us were excited.  Of course I heard her
and Cindy Skyping about that.

   "Just great!," Cindy had said, feigning sadness.  "We add you two to the
community and YOU get your license, and I STILL can't."

   "Cindy Richards!" Jo retorted, "Gimme a break!  You're gonna graduate
from college at sixteen." Giggle  -" bilateral.  "Besides, we can both go
flying together!  And you know taildraggers!"

   "I've played with a few," Cindy replied.  "So what are you guys looking
at?"

   "Everything!" Jo said.  Maybe a 180 like yours."

   "They're good planes."

   Jo glanced at me to see if I was listening.  She smiled.  "Yes they are.
But there's this old guy who has a Pitts S-2..."

   Cindy's squeal overdrove the computer speakers.  "Don't you DARE!"

   Jo was chuckling.  "We could trade off.  You could use ours when you
wanted to just mess around, and we could use yours when we need to travel."
I was laughing, too.  It had a removable bubble canopy, and I'm thinking
that Jo in an open cockpit biplane...

   I'm also thinking of the future.  Jo's smiling, thinking of her unusual
collection of friends.  I spoke loud enough for Cindy to hear.  "We're NOT
buying that Pitts, Cindy.  My little wife is hallucinating."

   "Wait, Stoney," Cindy quipped.  "It's a good idea, now that I think
about it."

   "No," I said.  "It's slow and expensive and impractical."

   "Like a sailboat?" Cindy retorted.

   "Yeah," Jo reinforced.

   "We can't spend a weekend living in that Pitts," I said.

   "See, Cindy!  He has an answer for EVERYTHING!" Jo sighed.

   ------

   And she knew that first, if she batted her eyes a couple of times, we'd
own that Pitts tomorrow, and second, there was a conversation about toys
come June when her trust fund opened up.

   "We could, then, you know..." she'd told me.  "We owe ourselves a little
silliness, don't you think?"

   "But we don't have to get crazy, either."

   She put on her serious face.  "Oh, I know, my dear Stoney." That
phrasing was exactly what her mother would have said.

   "Yes, mizzus Solheim..."

   Squeal!  "I DID!  I sounded exactly like Mom!"

   "And I'm sure she'd be proud."

   ------

   "Oh, I knoooowwww," Cindy commiserated.  "We're soooo abused." Giggle.

   The two of them chatted a bit longer, then I caught Jo closing her
laptop.  It went into her backpack and I got climbed over by a delectable
redhead.

   "Stoney..."

   "Yes, dear."

   "I'm..." She didn't like to use the word 'horny'.

   "You are?  I can help..."

   Playful.  I'd heard about 'playful' mates.  I'd heard about 'playful'
partners.  The descriptive terms and indeed, my own imagination, failed to
describe what happens between me and Johanna.  Sometimes, like tonight, it
starts out with us both wearing clothes.

   She can do it or I can do it: get her undressed.  Sometimes she puts a
little effort into it.  She knows I'm watching, and she knows that 'happy
and demure' spikes my libido far higher than any imitation of wanton lust.
That little tilt of the head, the laughter in her eyes, the smile, the
bending of her leg, the brief halt in her flow, a pose, just for me...

   I undress, too, and the result is a collision on the bed, a tangle of
legs and arms, bodies rubbing, touching, tangling, sighs, gasps, giggles,
and I'm on my back and she's astride me laughing.

   "We really need to do that dog collar thing in public again, you know,"
she says.

   ------

   That's one thing about my Jo.  You don't give her an idea and expect her
to just drop it.  She showed up to meet me and some of the office gang for
lunch, wearing a turtleneck sweater.  I knew I was in trouble.  I was just
curious as to how she'd start it.

   Jennie.  Jennie, our documents manager had to say something about Jo's
turtleneck sweater.

   "Why, thank you, Jennie!  It's from Mom's hometown.  Hand knit.  Nice
and cozy, and it keeps Stoney's thing discreet."

   "Stoney?  Stoney has a 'thing'?"

   Oh, boy.  Here we go.

   Giggle from my Johanna.  "Yeah!" Giggle.  She pulled the turtleneck
collar down to reveal a dog collar.  "He likes me to wear it..."

   Brad sprayed Coke.  Jenny's jaw dropped.  Jo cut those blue eyes at me.
"Show 'em yours, baby!"

   I was wearing shirt and tie today because of a presentation.  I loosened
the tie and unbuttoned the top button at my throat.  Simple, tastefully
subdued natural brown leather collar.

   "Holy crap!" Brad said.  "At work, yet!"

   "Oh, I wear mine to class, so he wears his to work.  That way he's not
exploiting me!" She grinned as she reached into her ever-present backpack.
"Here's his leash!

   ------

   Of such little revelations does one move from a good, workmanlike
engineer to somewhat of a topic at the morning coffee sessions

   It's that playfulness that hooks me.  No, it's not the only thing. 
There's that 'partner' thing, too.  Early in our relationship, when we were
first starting to find out how we would fit, living together, we were both
reading one evening.  I noted that she arose from her end of the sofa, but
since she said nothing, neither did I.  I guessed it was a bathroom call.

   Wrong.  Little darling knows what music I like, and the next thing I
knew, she was cross-legged on the floor, serenading me.

   "You're magic, you know," I told her.

   She smiled without halting the music until the passage's end.  "Johanna
fell in love.  This is what it looks like sometimes."

   ------

   "Stoney fell in love, too."

   She was tangled up with me as our heartbeats returned to normal after my
second orgasm and her third.

   Her sigh was long and soft.  "You do know that I have homework.  And
practice."

   "It's late."

   "Quick shower.  Then I do the assignment, then I practice.  Okay?  We'll
be back in bed by ten."

   "Okay..." I liked the quick shower we did after sex, too.

   I read some news feeds on my laptop while she played college student
with her books, and then I played audience while she practiced, up to the
point where she said, "Play along with me." That meant that she cajoled me
into playing Bach preludes, both of us transcribing and converting the
music to our instruments.  A year ago I would have said it was impossible.
Now I was doing it.  With Johanna.

   Doing a lot of things with Johanna, actually.  Beautiful afternoon in
the park, the two of us sitting under a shade tree, me with my banjo, she
with her flute, making music.  She kicked my banjo case open.  We played.
Got an audience.  Several came and went, but several more plopped down in
the grass by us so they could listen and we could talk.

   I noticed the occasional flutter or tinkle in the direction of my banjo
case as we played and interacted with the audience.  When we finally shut
down, Jo started counting bills and loose change.

   "There's eighty bucks here!" she laughed.

   "A nice dinner," I said, "Or..."

   "I know where we can give it to some people who will put it to good
use." She smiled.  "It's not like we NEED the money." Then she giggled.  "I
need to call Cindy and the gang and tell them they're not the only ones who
can make money in college."

   I laughed.  "Yep!  We could parlay this cash into a week's worth of
beans and rice."

   "Hey!," Jo retorted.  "Profit is profit!  Besides, we can feed our
karma."

   That is what we did.  On the way home, we detoured to the parking lot of
a little church.  I looked at Jo, questioning.

   "We played a Sunday concert here once.  They have a neighborhood
outreach."

   Noting the car in the pastor's parking slot, I followed her into the
side door, following the light from an open office.  There was a guy
sitting at his desk.  He looked to be in his late sixties.

   "Can I help you?" he asked.

   "No sir," Johanna said.  "We're pretty much blessed.  We wanted to give
you this." She pulled out the wad of cash and put it on his desk.

   "Oh, really?  Thank you.  Where?"

   Jo smiled.  "Saturday afternoon playing music in the park, me and my
Stoney.  We don't do it for the money, but since it's there, we thought you
might be able to use it here."

   He smiled.  "Thank you.  Bless you.  How'd you know about us?"

   "A bunch of us played a concert here last spring."

   "Oh, yes, I remember.  You played the flute."

   "Yessir," she said, demurely.  "Since then I've gotten married.  My
husband and I play music together.  We went to the park today, just to
enjoy the weather and make music."

   He looked at me.  "I'm Randall Jackson.  Stoney, to my friends.  I play
banjo."

   "You must come for one of our Saturday socials," he said, "and play. 
It's more social than religious.  As a matter of fact, we start this
evening at 5:30..."

   "We will do that one Saturday," Jo said.  "I promise."

   Back in the car, on the way home, she turned to me.  "We will, you know.
It's something we can give."

   Friday morning I went to work.  She went to class.  We performed the
expected roles, came home, grabbed the bags, and headed for the boat.

   "Boat, Stoney.  I want solitude, interrupted only by YOU."

   "You'll get that, my Celtic princess." That whole idea of us escaping
together three weekends out of four was a pleasant thing to me, and a big
surprise.  I used to to do maybe one weekend a month, but Jo PUSHED for it,
and when we did go out, she seemed to intuitively understand that the two
of us could exist comfortably together in the confined space of our little
fiberglass universe.

   And there's that 'naked in the moonlight' thing.  EVERY trip out. 
"Almost spiritual, Stoney.  Certainly loving,, and most certainly sexual,
but there's something spiritual there, too."

   I'm not going to argue.  With the weather warming up in the springtime,
though, she pushed me into 'naked in the daylight' a few times.  I'm glad
of her tender northern European skin, though, because that seems to
restrict her more than the idea of anyone on the bay seeing the two of us
cavorting nude in the cockpit.

   That's another one.  We were both naked, lounging, and she got up and
wrapped her fingers around my semi-erect member.  It went to full erection
as she knelt.

   Giggle.  "So this is why it's called a cockpit?"

   "Huh?"

   "This is a real cock."

   "And where did we hear that word?"

   "I'm not totally insulated from society.  I don't like the word.  Sounds
so pornish and coarse.  But it just crossed my mind."

   Okay, so it's a 'cockpit', and no that's NOT the origin, but any excuse
that Jo wants for a romp in the sun is fine with me.

   But this is Friday evening and I just set the big anchor for the night
and there's this redhead watching me and she's smiling.



   ------

   Chapter 43

   Johanna's turn:

   Friday!  I was never one of that 'TGIF' bunch who LIVES for Fridays
before.  Before Stoney.

   Now?  Maybe.  Just a little bit.

   We swapped vehicles this morning.  He drove my little hatchback to work.
I took his SUV to campus.  And at three, after class, I was loading bags
into it at the apartment.  That way, when he got home, we'd be ready to
head to the marina.

   I can't wait.  Yes!  I get excited.  I know, really, we have as much
privacy as two people could possibly ask for here in our apartment, but
there's something about being out on the boat.  To me it's a palpable sense
of isolation.  The first time I experienced it with Stoney, before we WERE
Stoney 'n' Jo, it was almost a physical feeling, like I had a freedom to be
ME around HIM that just wasn't quite there on dry land.

   I smiled at the thought.  No, make that 'thoughts'.  I'd heard other
girls talk about being excited about some guy or another.  I used to write
it off as just 'talk'.  Now I know.  I know that there's an animalistic
amount of tingling that goes on in anticipation of a guy and a girl and a
boat anchored out on a dark bay.

   "Mom, can I talk to you about a delicate subject?" I had to ask Mom. 
Mom, whom I trusted.  I asked a few girls at school, but you never know
who's got an agenda, even Key.  I knew that Key was no prude.  She and
Hutch, well, frequently, she said, and enthusiastically, too, but I wanted
to ask the most trusted of sources: Mom.

   "Yes, dear one, you may."

   "I get these feelings about Stoney.  I mean, when I know he's coming
home, sometimes, and especially if we're planning on going out on the
boat."

   "Tingles.  Rattles.  Wiggles.  A happy warmth?"

   "Yes, Mom."

   "You didn't invent those, dear, and I am quite familiar with them
myself."

   "It's normal, then?"

   My mother sighed.  Sighed!  And I knew what she was sighing about. 
"Happily, for you and me, yes.  I understand that some unfortunate women do
not experience these feelings.  We are quite fortunate.  Apparently some of
the candles I burned for you have brought my prayers to reality."

   "Oh," I giggled.  "My dear mother prayed that her daughter would get all
gooshy over some guy.  You may have warped me."

   "I didn't pray about you and SOME guy, Johanna Elise.  I prayed about
you and THE guy.  And proudly I will accept your warpage."

   So I had the phone call.  Stoney always calls me when he's in the car,
lined up to get out of the parking garage on the way home.  I have nothing
left to do but wait.

   Check email.  There's one from Cindy and Kara that they're enroute to
Alabama, them and Dan, Cindy's husband, and Nikki, who's there for the ride
this time.  I feel relieved.  I think good things will happen to Kara.  The
idea that I may have played a little part, that's a pleasant feeling.

   I reply to the email, letting them know that we'll be on the boat and
off the grid for the weekend.  We do that.  We both carry smartphones, and
even in the middle of the bay, we can get reception, so we're not isolated.
I mean, iPad?  Makes it nice if you get a desire to find a fact or a book
or a bit of knowledge, but you won't see Jo and Stoney ignoring each other
over iPhones.

   Oh, yes, we both read.  I dunno.  How DO you read when your partner is
in close proximity?  We curl up together, sometimes side by side, sometimes
at opposite ends, legs mixed in a crazy knot, and we read.  It's a quiet
time, separate, yet oh so together.  And it breaks up when something
intrudes.  That 'something' can be a growling stomach, meaning it's
mealtime, or it can be my body waking up and saying 'Hey!  That guy next to
you ...  he can surely provide some really good feelings.' Or his body
doing the same thing, usually manifested by something hot and hard, or a
roll over and a kiss that makes the air glow around us.

   Or we'll be sitting in the cabin, him with his banjo, me with my flute,
making music like we're making love, happy, free, sweet.  Like it's
supposed to be.

   I let my mind drift along, sort of flowing with the anticipation of the
upcoming weekend.  My thoughts concluded with the sound of a key in the
doorlock.  I was up, waiting for him to clear the door so I could get the
first kiss of the evening.  Gosh, I guess I sound silly, but that's okay.
The reward is worth it.

   Stoney drops his computer case beside the sofa and goes into the bedroom
to don his sweater for the trip.  It's still a little nippy in the
springtime, perfect weather for him to wear Mom's gift to her sailing
enthusiast son-in-law, a hand knit Norwegian wool fisherman's sweater.  Now
we match.  I'm wearing its smaller sister.

   And out the door we go.  Friday afternoon trip outbound means fighting
the traffic as most of the middle of Houston tries to get out of town. 
We're in there with the right music playing.  Stoney's driving.  Finally we
get off the freeway and onto the secondary road, then onto the little road
to the marina.

   I wave at Gary as we drive past the office.  By the time we get backed
into the parking slot, his golfcart is pulling up beside us.

   "Going out again," he asks.

   I nod.

   "Yes," Stoney says.  "Be back Sunday.  Need to talk to you about a
haul-out, too.  Need a bottom job."

   "Just let me know.  You gonna do 'er yourself?"

   "Don't see why not," Stoney said.  "You pressure-wash 'er, Jo and I will
put the paint on."

   That's a fact of life for boats that stay in the water here.  Once a
year, you pull 'em out of the water, clean the hull, then repaint it with
bottom paint, specially formulated to retard the growth of barnacles and
seaweed and such.  I knew of such things.  Had never actually done one. 
Stoney says he has.  So we can.  And it's what we need to do to have our
little refuge ready for another year.

   We made short work of loading the bags and supplies for the two-night
trip, Gary stood by to free up our last dock line, and we were off,
motoring slowly up the channel of the marina, then out into the channel to
the bay itself, and finally, the sail went up, the motor was shut down, and
we were under sail.  At last.

   This is routine.  Yeah, like 'taking a kid to an amusement park'
routine. I'm getting almost giddy by the time Stoney's standing at the bow,
setting the anchor.

   I guess it showed, because when Stoney turned around, he broke into a
grin.  "We're here, Princess.  Miles from anybody else.  Me and you.  And
you look happy about it."

   I showed him exactly HOW happy.  I grasped the hem of my blouse under my
sweater and pulled both of them up under my arms, showing him my titties.
He says they're perfect, then I will assume he likes to see them, so I show
them.  And I note the bulge that rapidly appears in the front of his pants.

   Idea!  I have one!  "Come here, Stoney!  Sit right there!" I pointed to
the aft edge of the cabin.

   He complied, his feet dangling into the cabin, knees a little bit apart.
I pushed them further apart and insinuated myself between them and started
fiddling with his belt.

   "Stop that!  We're gonna get caught!"

   I simply smiled at him.  "There's not another boat in sight." And kept
working on that buckle.  Got it opened.  Next was the top button of his
pants, then  -"ZIP!! -"

   "You're crazy!" but he was smiling when he said it.  And hard.  And
getting harder.

   By the time I got that dick fished out, the head was purple, wet, and
straining.  This one wasn't going to take long.  I licked my lips and bent
down.  "Mmmmmmm!"

   "Oh, Godddddd, Johanna..."

   Yep!  He likes it.  From this angle, there's that little spot right
under the head, where the head sort of divides and merges into the shaft.
My tongue finds it and I feel him quiver, then hear him suck in a breath.
He's pulsing inside my mouth.

   I open my lips wide, lightly grip his shaft with my teeth, right behind
that luscious purple head.  Let my tongue play.  I have to be careful. 
There's a fine line with teeth.  He loves it, right up to the point where
it hurts him.  I love it, feeling him vibrate like a string on his banjo.

   Careful.  Because I enjoy it too much myself.  A moment's loss of
control and I could hurt the one I love most.  My lips close again and I
suck, slowly pushing downward, taking him deeper into my mouth, then back
up, my tongue wiping that shaft until I can curl the tip to hit that spot.

   His hands caress the back of my head.  That's a sign.  Stoney would
NEVER force me to do something.  He's not holding me there with his hands,
he's caressing me as I love him with my mouth.  I keep soft movements:
slide down, suck, pull back, hit that spot with a little teasing, then
again.  Each time I get salty, tasty juice.  I keep on, suck, pull back,
tease ...  and a few of those and I feel movement, different than the
shaking I've been producing in him.

   This is a throb.  That thing I have in my mouth, it's throbbing, each
pulse separated from the next, and I know what's happening and I like it
and I keep going, my mouth making those pulses build.  And ...  Gulp!  Yes.
Suck.  Gulp!  Yes!  And I keep going on him until the pulses no longer
produce surges of juice in my mouth, just a steady flow, and if I keep
sucking gently I can keep him rolling in orgasm for a while.  And if it's
done right, he'll go and go until he starts getting soft and I have DONE my
man the way I want to do him.

   When he's soft, I slowly pull back as I gently suction him.

   "When you can move, I need kisses."

   "I owe you."

   "You need to put down a towel.  That top is cold to my heinie."

   He nodded.  Made some more noises loosely associated with speech, slid
down off the cabin top, and gathered me into his arms.  And kissed me.

   I know from talking to other girls that with most guys, a kiss after a
blowjob (their term, not mine  -" too coarse for what I felt just now) was
taboo.  Stoney kissed me.  I hadn't made a dash to the bathroom for
mouthwash and toothbrush.  Not now.  Not the first time.  He kissed me. 
The same way he always kisses me, sensations override my ocular nerve and I
can't see anything but light.  Kisses me.

   After a bit, he backed up.  "Strip 'em!"

   "Strip what?"

   "Your pants.  Take 'em off and sit up here.  I'll get a towel!"

   Okay, it's a little cooler than I would have liked, but instinct tells
me that in a minute I won't know WHAT the temperature is.  Not care.  He
pops out of the cabin with a folded bath towel, puts it on the cabin top
and I climb up there and spread my legs.

   "I feel like an exhibitionist," I said.

   He laughed.  "You look like one, too.  Fantasy!  MY fantasy!"

   I leaned back on my arms, spreading my legs, tilting my pelvis.  I could
tell I was gaping wide open.  Stoney's head moved forward, I felt his
breath, then little kisses, up the lips on one side, then the other.  His
mouth closed over the mound at the top.  I felt him go "mmmmmmm" and heard
him breathe through his nostrils.  He bit my mound lightly.  Then ... 
tongue.  Omigod!  Tongue!  Suction!  Hot breath!  Tongue.  Trilling,
playing staccato arpeggios on an instrument where the music formed inside
in my SOUL!

   Okay!  You know where I said that when Stoney puts his hands on my head,
he's not forcing me?  My hands are on HIS head, and I'm holding him there
because if he STOPS right now I will just DIE.

   BANG!!!  Like thunder, you see the flash of lightning and the thunder
rolls on and on through the clouds.  It's like that, except the lightning
was the first fire of my orgasm and the thunder rolling was the way it
keeps running through me.

   And I don't let him stop because that's just the FIRST one.  I've made
it to three before I lost consciousness before.  This time, at three, I'm
whimpering, happy, because I'm feeling too many things to be able to speak.

   Stoney knows.  He picks me up with his strong arms and sits down in the
cockpit, holding me in his strong arms and I am complete.  My eyes.  I
think I can open them and SEE things again.  I do open them.  His blue eyes
are looking at me with what must be adoration.

   "I may have said this before, Stonewall Jackson, but if you ever leave
me I will kill myself."

   "I will never leave you.  And if you want to go, I shall chain you to my
bed."

   "If you felt what I just felt, I can understand why."

   We grinned at each other.  If somebody would have seen us just then,
aside from the fact that I was pantsless, they'd have thought us to be a
couple of idiots.  Yes.  Crazy.  Loving one another.  Crazy.

   "You certainly do know how to start a weekend!" He was smiling.  Why did
this guy have to have THAT smile?  Looking back, I realize that he had me
from Day One.  I think back over it all.  It's a pleasant reverie.  But
right now my butt's getting cold.

   "Cabin," I say.  "Fire up the heater, at least for a bit." I stand,
slowly, relishing the pleasure waves still bouncing back and forth in my
center.

   I followed Stoney down into the cabin, grabbing my pants and panties off
the cockpit seat and closed the hatch while he lit the stove.  The light
inside the cabin was dim at first.  The setting sun through the portholes
didn't provide much, so I turned on the overhead lamp, got a little more
light.

   Stoney was rifling through one of the bags, looking for sandwich fixings
for dinner.  I got us a couple of bowls for soup, and between the two of
us, we soon had a meal going.  I pushed past him and got a hand on my ass
for the effort.

   "You beast!" I squealed.

   "You keep walking around like that, tempting me, and I'm the beast?"

   "True." I turned and wrapped him my arms.  "And it's wonderful.  Please
be beastly with me at every opportunity."

   "Yes, mistress," he replied subserviently.

   I giggled.  We play games.  It makes us happy.

   Like the 'collar' thing.  At first I thought it was just to play off
that whole thing of what's a guy his age doing marrying a college girl, you
know some sort of kinkiness, but then we did it, just to get a rise out of
people, which it really did, but then we're at home and I'm undressing and
I still have the collar on and he comes up to me and <<click!>> I'm on a
leash.

   "Come here, little girl," he said.

   ROWRRRRRRR!!  First one, I sucked him inside out.  Was going for 'until
it gets soft' but it just didn't.  So like an obedient little pet, I turned
around on all fours and presented my delicate little heinie to him.  Second
one!  Primed my pump, let me tell you!  So after his second, he's laid back
on the sofa, and he unhooks the leash off MY collar and goes to his and
<<click!!>>

   He had to carry me to the shower and set me in it.  Nothing worked
except this happy ball of fire right down there.

   I pull my panties back on, then my pants, a concession to cool cushions
and desire for sanitation, and we pull our instruments out and play music
together, nothing too strenuous, just happy, sharing things, enjoying each
other.

   The soup's simmering, so it's soup and sandwich for dinner, then some
more playing of music, and I watch Stoney trying to shave in the tiny head
of the boat.  I don't laugh too much, though, because I have to do my own
ablutions.  There's a kettle of water on the galley stove, heating.  I need
at least slightly warm water.  Well, I don't NEED it, but it's nice.  And
we've both learned that a bucket of warm water is good enough for face and
crotch and pits.

   I was harboring that thought when Stoney went past me, naked.

   "What are you doing?"

   'I have an idea," he said, flipping the hatch open into the cockpit.  In
the cockpit he tossed the boarding ladder over the stern and I heard a
splash.  I jumped up and into the cockpit, looking over the side.  There
was Stoney, shaking his head.

   "God, that's brisk!" he said.  He took a few more moments to wash
himself in the brackish bay water, then he was up the ladder.  "Now all I
have to do is rinse!"

   "If you can do it, I can do it," I said.  I looked around.  "No boats."
And I dove over the side.  He's right.  Brisk is a bit too weak to describe
the temperature, but like him, I ran my hands over everything and then
scrambled my butt up the ladder.  He was standing there with a towel.

   "You're nuts, you know..."

   "Oh, YOU'RE the Viking," he laughed.  "Cold water should be your thing."

   "Sir," I laughed, "I'm pretty sure that my Viking ancestors had
different standards of hygiene that didn't require dunking tender bodies in
ice water."

   At least by now the cabin was WARM.  Of course, the way I felt after
that dunking, a freezer would have felt warm.  In the cabin I did a quick
wipe-down with the warm water and frankly, I felt both clean and
exhilarated.  The only down side was wet hair.  Maybe diving in head-first
wasn't my best move.

   I was toweling it vigorously, trying to get it as dry as possible. 
Stoney tossed me a fresh towel.  "We have plenty," he smiled.  "And you'd
make a heck of a mermaid, by the way."

   "Movie aside, mermaids don't all have red hair, sir," I giggled.

   "And I'm really happy that you don't turn into a fish halfway down,
too."

   We put sweatsuits on and turned the cabin heater down a bit.  "Read? 
Music?"

   "Cards?" I said.

   We played cards for a while, relaxing, some Rimsky-Korsakov playing on
the stereo, talking.

   "You're dying to know, aren't you?" Stoney asked.

   "Know what?"

   "Know how Kara and Cindy fared."

   "Well..."

   "Call 'em!  I'm curious, too."

   "You sure?"

   "I'm sure," he said.

   I called.  Heard a lot of happy sounds.  Replied with my own.  Hung up.

   "It's good," I told Stoney.  "She loved the flight.  They burnt out the
intercom on the plane, talking." Giggle.  "Not really, but they talked all
the way.  She's met everybody.  Seems to have found a niche."

   "Good!" he said.

   After the card game  -" he won by fifty points  -" what else is there to
do?  Oh yeah  -" that!  Two to one, my favor.

   Saturday was a blue sky day.  Fresh breeze, so we're all over the bay,
sail full, drop the anchor at lunch, sail some more, anchor for the night
at a far corner of the bay ...  you get the picture, don't you?

   Sunday at lunch we're docking after refueling and topping off the water
tanks, and by mid-afternoon we're home and I'm wondering how I ever thought
that life had any color before this.

   Sunday evening we took care of laundry for the upcoming week, and of
course Monday is a musical night.  This week it's at our place and by now
Mizz Betta next door just goes ahead and bakes something to bring over for
us.

   Of course, Key didn't make it though the door without eyeing Stoney. 
"Drug my white girl off for the weekend again, didn't you?"

   Stoney did his 'aw shucks' pose.  "She made me."

   Key laughed.  She and I had already talked.  "You know, I'm beginning to
believe you.  I didn't know what kinda girl she was."

   "I didn't either, but I'm used to it now."

   She flashed a smile.  "I'm taking notes.  An' passin' 'em to Hutch."

   "I don't want Hutch hating on me now," Stoney said.

   "Oh, he'll be okay.  I told 'im that it's that Viking thing.  You know,
boats 'n stuff."

   Stoney was less a participant in these sessions but he was dragged in
from time to time anyway, as was Mister Hlinka.

   Mister Hlinka smiles because Key, a fellow oboist, calls him her adopted
grandfather, and Mizz Betta her adopted grandmother, and Mizz Betta told us
"We are suitably proud.  Had we had children, I would want them to be like
you, sweet Miss Key." The Hlinkas will be at Key and Hutch's wedding and
the rehearsal dinner, as will we, so I get so see Key's parents and natural
grandmother react to this declaration.  Key's parents are like mine, except
black, of course, so I think it'll be a happy moment.

   And it's a month to graduation, well a week or so more than that, and
with late spring and summer, it's going to be too hot to spend the night on
the boat because it will be too hot below, and too mosquito-ridden above,
unless we get a few miles offshore, and then there's the risk of getting
run over by one of those deep-water service boats that take care of the
offshore oil platforms, so Stoney and I will have to come up with something
else.

   But I'm thinking graduation.  Trust fund.  And there's a world to play
with out there.

   "You're nuts, you know," Stoney tells me.

   "I know," I say.  "And hang on, buddy.  Let's see where this one goes,
huh?"



   ------

   Chapter 44

   Johanna's turn:

   Two more weeks.  That's it.  Two weeks!  I will graduate college. 
Stoney says he's the first of his family to receive a college degree.  For
myself, both parents have degrees, Dad's masters includes four years from
West Point, Mom's from Trinity College in Dublin.  And now I'm getting
ready to graduate here in Houston, Texas, US of A.

   Double major, too, music and business administration.  I have that
'music' part nailed.  I could take a position with the local symphony,
probably.  I could take that 'business' bit, too, and get a position with
some of the million businesses, large, medium and small, in Houston and the
surrounding areas, like my Stoney with his engineering degree.

   We, my Stoney and I, could have a nice, neat, normal life, you know,
both work for a couple of years, get the house somewhere in one of the
surrounding bedroom communities, then create the offspring we both want,
thus presenting my mother with the expected and almost mandatory
grandchild. Or two.

   Except for that 'work' thing.  Old world uncle.  Big company with
tentacles all over the North Sea, and that was just the beginning.  Now you
see that logo anywhere on the planet that oil and gas are underground, and
that old uncle loved him some nieces and nephews.  As in 'graduate college?
Here's your trust fund.'

   We wouldn't even have to be too frugal to just shut down that whole
'earn an income' thing completely and retire to a seaside or a mountain or
a prairie home and do a life like that, except for some little difficulties
like a husband who likes what he does for a living and a wife who would
follow him through the fires of Hell wearing a wax bikini.

   We can do music.  Got two hundred and fifty dollars one Thursday night
for a two-hour gig, he and I, for a group of music aficionados from an
uptown church.  Stoney on banjo, me on flute, Kendra, one of my college
orchestra friends, on violin, and Key on oboe.  There's no such thing in
the music world as something written for that collection of instruments, so
we adapted.  We took Bach and Mozart and Haydn and disassembled and
reassembled them into something different and recognizable and played those
and then we zipped into the 20th century and took bluegrass on a way that
could make Earl Scruggs laugh and at the end of the night Stoney and I gave
our share of the proceeds back to the church's inner city ministries.  So
we could do that, too.

   Neither of us want to stop those things.  My Stoney wants to engineer. I
want music.  We want to be together.  I don't know where HIS love of sail
comes to him, but I suppose that somewhere in my Nordic-Hibernian gene
blend there's something that makes me want to be on the water, too, so
we've talked about that.

   In the meantime, I'm enjoying life.  Being Mrs.  Randall 'Stoney'
Jackson suits me well.  I've accompanied him to company functions and to
trade shows.  Met Nikki Granger and Dan 2.0, her husband at one of them. 
Since she's an engineering student, Nikki eschewed the 'spouse's
activities' that go along with these things, and if Nikki can do it, so can
I.

   Somewhere on the show floor Stoney and I met Nikki and Dan.  "Let's you
and me take off on our own," Nikki said.  "It'll be fun!"

   Okay, I'm geeky enough to be interested in a lot of the hardware
artfully displayed in the huge convention hall, and I can't help but think
Nikki's got something up her sleeve.  I tossed a look at Stoney.

   "Go ahead.  You two are both insane, but in opposite directions.  You'll
cancel each other out," Stoney said.

   "I wouldn't be too sure about that," Dan laughed.

   We took off.  Now let's look at this from an outsider's point of view. I
know that when you look at me, I could be any age from fifteen to
twenty-five, and I'm dressed like your standard college student, in other
words, rather informal, but decent and tasteful.

   So's Nikki.  Except she looks younger.  That dark brown Cajun hair,
those blue eyes, a little bounce in her step, the only thing that might
just be a warning is that instead of a purse she's got an olive drab
tactical shoulder bag, one of those Cordura things with Velcro flaps and
plastic snap buckles.  Lord only knows what she keeps in it.  But I've had
many conversations with Nikki and I know, well, I have some idea of her
brain.  Think of a tea cozy over a land mine.

   So we're bouncing around, looking at displays of electrical equipment
that 99% of society doesn't even know exists, and Nikki spots something
that catches her eye.  She whispers to me, "We just built a panel with two
of those in it.  I did the networking and programming.  Wanna have fun?"

   Now here you are, the marketing, uh, 'sales engineer' for a company and
two reasonably attractive (my words, not my husband's, but he's prejudiced)
young girls walk up and stand there looking at your latest, greatest state
of the art magic box.  He's thinking that we're here to collect the
freebies that most vendors give away at these shows.

   "Hi, ladies," he says, displaying the requisite trade-show smile.  "I
have drink cozies and keychains, if that's what you'd like."

   Wrong move.  Nikki.  "Uh, no, actually I was wondering when you guys are
rolling out the new firmware for these.  I keep having to work around your
partial implementation of IEC 61850 protocols.  It's crippled.  I could be
using your competition's devices, you know..." And a stone-melting smile.

   I bit the inside of my mouth a little bit to stifle a giggle, adding my
own smile to the bonfire.

   Salesman goes "Whaaaa?  Excuse me?"

   Nikki charged right in.  "We just built some panels for a utility
company.  I programmed these devices.  I had to jump through a few hoops to
get them to interface with legacy equipment from another manufacturer
because you guys shorted us on the IEC 61850 instruction set.  I understand
the changes are coming."

   He looked around real quick.  I guess he was thinking that he was being
messed with.  Torpedoed.  Gaslighted.  He looked back at us.

   Nikki was fishing a business card out of her bag.  "Here's my card."

   He took it.  I think he was still trying to parse what was going on.  He
read "3Sigma ...  Oh, okay, that rings a bell."

   Her card says "Engineering assistant  -" Intern"

   "I don't know where we're at with that firmware rollout," he said.  "You
work with our gear?"

   "Some of our clients spec it.  We give them the pros and cons of yours
and your competition's.  Your firmware is a problem.  I'm looking at
marketing a little interface box that piggybacks on your box and patches
your omissions."

   "YOU'RE building something?"

   Smile.  "Already have one working."

   "Your company built it?"

   "No sir.  I built it.  Well, actually I and Cindy Richards built it. 
Works, too.  Just working up how to harden it for the industrial and
utility environments."

   "Uh, maybe we can talk to you and Mizz Richards?  Is she here?"

   "No sir.  She couldn't get away from school for this trip."

   "School?"

   I was enjoying this.  The guy was only a little bit away from visibly
shaking.  His brow had beads of perspiration.

   "Yessir.  She and I go to Auburn.  She's fifteen."

   "Uh ...  If you don't mind my asking, how old are you?"

   "Sixteen."

   The poor guy looked at me like I might be some relief.

   "Don't look at me," I said.  "I'm just a music major."

   He shook visibly.  I thought we'd have to get a defibrillator.

   Nikki dialed her shtick back a little and explained where she was with
his equipment.  The poor guy was shaking his head as we walked away.

   Giggle.  "Let's go see his competition," Nikki said.

   We met up with our husbands around lunchtime, pushing our way into a
crowded eatery.  We sat down, ordered drinks and the daily special.

   "Okay, spill it, Nikki," Stoney said.

   "What'd I do?" she squeaked.  "Dan, protect me."

   Dan laughed.  "Oh, no.  I wanna know, too."

   "We didn't do nuthin'," I said.  "My sister and I just visited some of
the booths.  She asked a few questions."

   "Nnnoooooo," Stoney said.  "What did you do to that guy at Gentech?"

   "What do you know?" Nikki asked.  "I'm not into self-incrimination."

   I was grinning.  I like this.

   "Me an' Dan walked up there and Dan asked him about 61850 protocol
issues and I thought the dude was gonna have a stroke."

   "I gave him my card.  He had yours," Dan said.  "He compared them. 
Asked me if you were for real."

   "And you told him..." I urged.

   "I told him that he'd probably heard stories of forest nymphs in
mythology, and that Nikki is the much rarer and less documented Louisiana
Marsh Nymph."

   "A mythological creature," Stoney said.  "He remarked about a 'music
major'.  I said 'THAT is a legitimate Irish-Norwegian forest nymph.'"

   "Thank you, my dear," I said.

   So I'm thinking that I really don't want to turn my back on this bunch.
Every time I talk with them, it's like falling into a yard full of kittens,
except the kittens in this yard have IQ's above 140.  Stoney just shakes
his head.

   "That could be an answer, Princess," he said.

   "Ya think?" I said.  "It's a package, you know.  Music.  Engineering..."
I paused.  "Did I just say that?"

   "What?"

   "Music and engineering."

   "I think you did."

   "We break stereotypes."

   "I know," he said.  "You're too pretty and talented to be with..."

   "Don't EVEN start, Randall Jackson!  You are EXACTLY the man I was
destined to marry." I have to watch this.  Every now and then my Stoney
gets morose.  "And you're plenty talented, too, you know." I clasped my
hands onto his waist and pulled him against me.  "And your scarred, manly
visage pushes all my 'I want a real man' buttons."

   "Thank you." And kisses.  If there was nothing on the schedule this
evening, dinner could wait.  There is, though.  Dinner with Nikki and Dan.
Had fun.

   Okay.  Reset to this week.  I have one test left.  Easy enough.  Not
because the course is particularly easy, but because I studied my butt off.
Could've done a 'C' easily, but despite the fact that the degree was
beginning to look superfluous, I have my pride.  Not exactly 4.0, but the
high 3.9's.  Mom and Dad (and Stoney) will be proud.

   Got the gown ordered.  Mom and Dad will be here, barring anything short
of an apocalypse.

   We've talked with the attorneys and the fund managers who hold our trust
fund and we know how much is in it.  We know how much is in Stoney's
savings and investment accounts.  It's a nice number.  Lots of digits.

   Reading over those reports I told Stoney, "Turn in your notice now."

   "You sure?"

   "Are you nuts, Stoney?  You're an electrical engineer in Houston, Texas.
If you trip on the sidewalk two engineering recruiters will get in a
fistfight trying to pick you up."

   He looked at me.  His 'I know you're right' look.

   "And you need to give Oaktree as much time as possible so you can ease
out of the project pipeline."

   "They could just tell me to go empty my desk, you know."

   "I doubt that will happen.  But if it does, so what?  You can stay home
and clean the house and fix me a nutritious meal every day." I giggled.

   "And be wearing nothing but a frilly apron when you come in from a hard
day out in the world, right?"

   "Right."

   I giggled again because I had a picture of him dressed like that in my
mind.  Not unpleasant at all, especially when I get rid of that stupid
apron.

   Stoney's turn:

   "Turn in your notice," Jo said.

   You know I love Johanna Elise.  She could've told me this and pointed to
a cardboard box under an overpass presaging a life as a panhandler and I've
probably considered it.  That's now what we're doing.

   I spoke with her dad.  She was listening, of course, and I trust her,
but I wanted a bit more info.

   "Stoney, my son, it is plenty.  You two won't be Bill Gates rich, but
anything short of a world-wide collapse, you will live quite comfortably
without touching the principal."

   "I'm listening."

   He regarded my face.  "You're like me, I suppose.  That's not a
surprise, knowing my daughter.  I don't have to work.  I like what I do. 
But I can be very picky about vacations and locations.  I suspect you may
choose a similar path."

   Jo just smiled and leaned her head on my shoulder.

   "One more time, Anders, she told me NONE of this before we married."

   "I find that no surprise, either.  And when I married her mother, she
thought she was getting an American army officer.  At the time, she was. 
The uncle's business was small then.  When it took off and he announced his
intent toward us, well, pleasant surprise."

   We sign the paperwork the first week of June.

   The next workday after 'turn in your notice', I walked in, had my cup of
coffee with Brad and the gang, then went to my office and punched up Bob's
office.  I didn't particularly relish this conversation.

   He picked up.  "What's up, Stoney?"

   "Bob," I said, "I really don't know how to tell you this, so I'll just
come out and say it.  Second Friday in June is my last day."

   "Wha ...  You're quitting?"

   "Yeah, I'm leaving."

   "Do you mind if I ask why?  Pay?  Conditions?" Pause.  "Come up here and
talk."

   "Be there in a bit, Bob." Now I felt bad.  This has been a good company
to work with.  I'm treated well, and I like most of the people with whom I
associate.  Friends.  Good people.  And I was leaving.  When I pushed my
chair back and looked up, I was reminded why.  That's a great picture of me
and Johanna.  She's in her floppy sailing hat, freckled, smile as wide as
the Gulf, the bay and the distant shore far in the background.

   I trudged up the hall, took the stairs to the next floor, walked to
Bob's office.  Knocked.

   "Stoney!  Come in.  Sit.  What's going on?"

   "Jo's graduating.  After she does, we're off on an adventure.  I think
they call it 'life'."

   "So take a leave of absence.  You know we like your work.  You're an
asset."

   "Bob, don't make this harder than it is.  I know that.  Oaktree has been
good to me because YOU have been good to me.  I enjoy working here. 
Really."

   "So why are you leaving, then?"

   "Because I have a smart, pretty wife with a sense of adventure and she's
no longer strapped down to college.  We're going on quests."

   "It's not money, then?  I know we're competitive, but if you have a
better offer..."

   "Bob, we've been working together for a few years now, you know.  I'm
not posturing for more money.  I don't play those games.  And we don't need
the money."

   "Wow.  Been a while since I heard 'we don't need the money.'"

   "Serious."

   "So you're dropping the engineering entirely?"

   "Can't do that," I said truthfully.  "May free-lance from time to time.
Jo and I may play music here and there."

   "Well, Stoney, you don't sound pissed and you don't sound like you're
negotiating, so I guess you're serious."

   "I am, Bob.  I am going to make sure that my projects are documented and
ready to dump on the next guy."

   "I need to look at what's on your desk and see who I can give them to."

   "Send 'im to me.  I'll work with whoever it is, get them up to speed.  I
don't intend to leave you in a bind."

   "Thanks.  So I don't need to keep it a secret?"

   I sighed.  "Don't see why you should, Bob.  I'll leave it to you as to
how to announce it."

   "Does Brad know?" Bob knew that Brad, among the crew, was probably my
closest friend.

   "Nope.  Not yet.  Figured I'd tell you first.  Didn't want you
blind-sided."

   "Dammit, Stoney..." Bob blurted.  "Why couldn't you be some slacker
asshole?  I hate losing a good one!"

   "Thanks, Bob.  That means a lot."

   "Well, watch me compose the email.  I'll shotgun it to the crew."

   I watched him type a non-commital, terse message: "Randall 'Stoney'
Jackson has announced his resignation effective in two weeks to pursue
other adventures."

   By the time I made it back to my floor I was besieged.  Amid questions
of 'Are you serious?' and 'Where're you going?' I just smiled and replied
that I had nothing adverse to say about the company, just that I had
opportunities opening up in life that did not require that I show up in an
office building in Houston five days a week.

   I ended up with Brad in my office.

   "That's most of the story, then?" Brad asked.  "You don't need to be
here?"

   "That's it," I said.  "Not mad.  Not tired.  Not looking for more money.
Just me and Jo headed off for one horizon or another."

   "Boat?" He asked.

   "Might be.  That one.  Or another one.  Or a plane."

   "Yeah.  Brand new license, right?"

   Yes, Jo and I both had new licenses.  "I dunno.  Jo and I have had a lot
of conversations.  She's wanting to go visit her uncle in Norway.  I'm up
for that.  After that, who knows?"

   "Must be kind of disconcerting to you, Stoney," Brad opined.  "You and
I, we're used to having measured paths forward."

   "It kinda is unsettling," I agreed.  "But I can't think of a better
reason for an adventure than that thing," I said, pointing to that picture
of Johanna in concert garb.  "You know, I feel a whole lot better about
this adventure than when I stepped off the plane in the Sandbox."

   "I hear that," Brad said.  "I guess it might be bad form, but I am going
to regret your departure.  You know you need to stay in touch.  You and Jo
are among my more impressive friends, according to my wife."

   "You wife is correct," I laughed.  "At least compared to your friends
from here."

   Four o'clock.  Home to Jo.

   "Did you do it?" she asked.

   "I did it," I said.  "Wasn't pleasant, though."

   "Did somebody get mad?"

   "No, Bob just hung his head like a scolded puppy.  He's actually been
good to work with.  Good job."

   "Stoney, I don't want to see you hurt.  We could stay here..."

   I looked at those azure eyes.  Read them.  "No, sweetie, that's not
happening.  Engineers move on.  It's a fact of life.  I've seen 'em come
and go right there in that office."

   "But you don't have to..."

   I wrapped her in my arms, holding her close.  She turned her face up to
mine.  Little kiss.  "I want to.  Got me a princess and a world to explore
with her."

   Several days later I'm sitting in the stadium with Jo's parents and dear
old Uncle Jan Solheim is there on the other side of his nephew.  The old
guy is pushing the upper seventies but is in great condition, and is very
happy that his great-niece has pursued her education.

   "A man should be proud of his family.  Anders has made me proud.  Now
his daughter makes me proud," he told me when we met.

   I was worried.  I never know how people are going to react to me.  The
scar is off-putting to some.  I should not have worried.  Anders had laid
the groundwork for the meeting.  Uncle Jan did not become a billionaire by
being stupid.

   "Hair in braids, a beard, a bit of leather, and you'd be the Norseman
right out of our history," he laughed.  "And like my nephew, you have
chosen a fire-headed wife."

   "Uncle Jan," Jo interrupted, "there is still some dispute as who chose
whom."

   He smiled.  "I know my nephew.  I know his wife.  And I suspect as
much."

   That was one dinner.  Another dinner was with Key and Hutch and her
parents.  Also pleasant.  Mrs.  Stephens, Key's mom, tackled me.

   "You're the one that Key calls 'her favorite white boy', then."

   "Yes, ma'am." Jo was giggling.

   "We know quite a bit about you," she said.  "Carl and I heard of her
idea of presenting you as her chosen one.  She told us when she brought
Hutch home the first time."

   "Key is one of my favorite people," I said.  "But she's got this thing
about wanting to give her folks heart attacks..."

   Carl laughed.  "I think her mom and I would've survived, but I don't
know about her Grandmother."

   "I figured I'd get shot," I said.

   "I wouldn't've," Carl said.  "I don't think Kammie would've.  But
Grandma's another story.  Old lady's feisty."

   "Heck of a friend you are, Key," Jo said.  "Trying to get my fiancĂ(C)
shot by a septuagenarian black lady."

   Key giggled.  "I'm still imagining all those mocha-colored kids!"

   Hutch coughed tea from his nose.  "Key!"

   We're tying up loose ends.  We're going to keep our apartment for the
time being, just to keep us from being total nomads, but where it goes from
here?

   Who knows?



   ------

   Chapter 45

   Johanna's turn:

   Back from ten wonderful days in Norway.  Spent some time living out of
Great-uncle Jan's place.  He's got a beautiful home up a mountainside above
a fjord overlooking one of his shipyards in the distance.  It's a little
shipyard, and this is Norway where shipbuilding is part of the national
psyche, so it counts as scenery, understand?

   We did the touristy things, visiting museums and churches, seeing
sights, absorbing the culture like a sponge.

   Phone call.  I looked at the display.  Uncle Lars.

   "Hello, Uncle Lars," I said.

   "Hello, brilliant niece," he replied.  "Where are you and your husband
today?"

   "Oslo.  Walking around the old parts of town."

   "Beautiful," he said.  "Stoney said something about boating.  I don't
have a sailing boat at my immediate disposal, but I do have a cabin power
boat, if you're interested."

   "Hang on," I said.  I turned to Stoney.  "Uncle Lars has a power boat we
can use.  Interested?"

   He didn't have to speak.  I knew.  "He's interested."

   "I do hope you have a captain for it," Stoney said.  "You people have
entirely too many rocks in your water around here."

   Uncle Lars laughed.  "I understand.  I've been to your Gulf of Mexico.
It's such a mild place, except for the occasional storm.  I would have been
surprised if you had not asked."

   We spent our day on the water.  The boat was not one of those fiberglass
consumer cruisers, it was a classic Norwegian fishing boat with a two
cylinder diesel engine that didn't buzz, it pooted purposefully, pushing up
and around the periphery of the fjord.  The captain's name was Jan,
pronounced almost like 'yawn', and when Stoney called him 'captain', Jan
smiled broadly.  "Understand it is American nice thing.  I like, but am not
captain.  Just man and boat."

   Jan had been working with Uncle Lars for forty years.  He understood
Stoney's love of the water and of boats and they talked for a while, then
Stoney and I retired to the stern and lounged together and took in the
sights.

   Jan talked to us of his life on the water.  Retired now, he'd been a
captain for oilfield service boats in the North Sea, some of the nastiest
waters in the world.  Protected from the open seas and the winds that go
with them, the fjord was idyllic, the scenery breathtaking.

   "I love a coast where you have to look UP," Stoney said.

   "I know," I said.  "A lot different than Galveston Bay, isn't it?"

   "In lots of ways," he said.  "Cool.  It's ninety-something in Galveston
today.  And here we're wearing sweaters."

   I leaned back against him.  "Maybe we need to work out a deal with Uncle
Lars.  Summer here.  Winter in Texas."

   "That's an interesting idea," he said.  "But where do we work in some
Alabama time?"

   "Oh, I know.  I got some jealous comments from our friends.  And they
want us down there soon." I did regular emails and the occasional Skype
session with that bunch of lunatics in Alabama.  There's a connection that
I just can't seem to shake.  Meeting them is second only to meeting Stoney
in making ripples in my psyche.

   Kara sent me a private email:



   JohannaI don't want you to think I turned my back on you, sister.  I'm
in this whirlwind now.  I thought I was going to be somewhat of an
outsider, even though the whole bunch of us talked for weeks, but it's
almost like this was a birthing.

   I am loving my music.  I have met with some of the music faculty at
Auburn and they not only are working with me for the college experience,
but I have integrated myself into the music at the Community, just like
they said YOU did.  Just walk in, whip out an instrument, and see what
happens.

   Anita and Maddie have gone home for the summer.  I'm staying.  I can't
say, "I don't have a home." I have Dad, and honestly, Dad is more loving,
caring and engaged since I moved away.  Here, though, I have little
sisters, Terri and Rachel, and I have big sisters, Cindy, Tina, Susan,
Nikki, and my world-travelling sister, you.

   I know life is a journey, not a destination, and I don't know what the
future holds, but I am learning things that will color forever my path. 
You and Stoney are part of that, always.

   When you decide that you're going to be back in Houston, let me know. 
I'm sure that I can make arrangements to be there to meet with you and
Stoney.

   Love always

   Kara



   "But I didn't DO anything special, baby," I told Stoney when I read the
email to him.

   "Sweet girl, sometimes what people need is for somebody to just be nice
and normal."

   I looked at my man, decent, honorable, caring.  Sighed.  "Have I been
sheltered?  Is the world really that screwed up?"

   "The system is all about entropy.  You're my little back current as the
universe circles the drain."

   "That's awfully dark, Stoney."

   "Sometimes I look at everything and it is.  Then I see my own personal
spot of sunshine." He pulled me close and kissed me.  "You."

   "We have some good spots.  Us.  Mom and Dad.  Uncle Lars.  The
Community."

   "Yes, we pull back and look at all that.  But to poor Kara, where she
was when we met her, maybe she wasn't able to pull back.  Maybe she was in
the dark."

   "How much of that was losses?  Losing her mom.  Her housekeeper friend.
Those losses."

   He sighed.  "And I see a sensitive soul in her.  Kind of fragile, in one
sense."

   All that conversation after a pleasant dinner in a restaurant in Oslo. A
meticulously clean hotel room.  An unfortunately small shower.  And before
lovemaking that had it been a painting, would have graced the wall of a
museum.

   I love my Stoney.  I love what we do to each other.  For each other. 
And two naked bodies, that's a part of marriage that words can't describe.

   In some ways, though, my life is stressful.

   "Rich girl problems," Stoney says when I talk about it.  I'm supposed to
be on the next step after college in the circle of life: career.  Or more
accurately for female ("You betcha!  I checked!" Stoney says) me, career
and motherhood.  But we don't need that career part and the motherhood
thing is two years away, per our discussion, unless I get some hormone
surge and talk to Stoney.

   "So find a place to play.  You know you want to," Stoney says.

   "You, sir, will be by my side at our next concert," I said.  It's
giggle-worthy.  I started Rara Avis as almost a joke, but Stoney made
business cards and they get passed around and now on a couple of Saturdays
we've found ourselves in little musical venues where we take one of our
frequent musical sessions, his banjo and my flute, and share it with an
audience.  That spot on the schedule is the main thing that keeps us from
spending more time in Norway.

   "I could like this place," Stoney says.

   "So," I reply, "nothing keeps us from going back, spending a week or two
or three, then coming back here.  Uncle Lars says that fjord cabin is ours
whenever we want it."

   "So don't tempt me, redhead," he laughs.  "I never planned to live my
life as a jet-setting dilettante."

   Giggle.  "Silly Stoney, jet-setters bypass Norway.  We'd need to go to
Switzerland or the Mediterranean."

   "Switzerland doesn't have an ocean, and the Mediterranean doesn't have
fjords and this lovely weather.  And if I do a couple more trips around the
fjord, Jan says he'll sit on the dock and let us go out without him."

   "Oh, noooo," I said.  "I know what happens when you get me on a boat by
myself." Giggle.  "Really?  He said that?"

   "Yeah.  I need to get used to the tidal flows and stuff.  The swing
isn't bad, but it's unfamiliar waters and the currents are goofy here."

   "Not like the bay entrance back home?" I remember bucking the incoming
tide.  Our boat's eight-knot top speed erodes pretty fast under a two knot
current pushing the other way.  Sailboats like ours have a physical speed
limitation.  More wind, more power doesn't make you go faster when you hit
a certain number.  Ours was eight knots.

   "No, I think it's like that, except I don't know the bottom and it's not
nice, soft mud like home.  These people are all about rocks."

   "GPS," I said.  "Electronic charts."

   "You heard Jan when I said that."

   "Yeah," I said, imitating Jan's raspy voice, "Stoney, is the sea.  Know
the sea.  Know your boat.  Know the shore.  Here!  In your head.  GPS?  She
breaks!  Then is you and the sea!"

   "I can do paper charts," Stoney said.  "I have the sense to pick my
battles.  Anchoring around here, though, that's another mess.  At home, we
just dropped the hook over the side and set it in the mud."

   "Yeah, I know..." I'd washed a lot of that sticky black mud off myself,
the anchor, and the boat on our weekends.

   "Here ...  rocks down there, too."

   "Still..."

   "And sailing?  I'm thinking that's a 'no'.  It's another variable to
fight."

   "One of those battles you choose, huh?" I replied.

   "Get something like Jan's boat, except with a little cabin."

   "Jan says that they, the fishermen, take boats like that out into the
open sea all the time," I said.

   "Yeah, they do.  And every town along the coast has a statue in front of
the church honoring the fishermen who never came back.  Sea's serious
stuff. North Sea's famous for eating people."

   "Well, I was just thinking that right now the Gulf of Mexico's a month
into hurricane season and it's too hot and mosquito-ridden to spend the
night in the bay."

   "We'll figure something out.  My baby likes the water, we'll figure out
a way to do the water."

   "Your baby likes a lot of things.  You get to like things, too, you
know," I told him.

   "Okay, I'd like to finish this coffee and retire to the hotel," he
smiled.

   Well, we DID have a goal.  Walked out into the sunshine of those
tremendously long Norwegian summer days and saw some street musicians
setting up across the square.  I looked at Stoney.  Stoney looked at me. 
He knows.

   A flute.  A violin.  A cello.

   Well, they could've been BAD.  College students.  They weren't.  We
perched on the stone retaining wall near them and listened.  A couple of
numbers in, Stoney reached into his pocket, pulled out a fifty-kroner note,
and I dropped it into the open cello case.  Got smiles in return.

   They took a break.  The flutist (naturally) came over to us. 
"Americans? I hear you speaking English."

   "Yes," I said.  "My great uncle is Norwegian.  We're here for a visit.
You and your friends make lovely music."

   "Thank you.  Fifty kroner, though ...  you will make us rotten?"

   "Spoil you?" Stoney questioned.

   "Yes.  Is that the way it is said?" She smiled.

   Her two male friends were there now, one handing her a drink.  The
sandy-headed one smiled.  "I ...  am Arne Gundersen.  You have met my Anna.
This is Sven Carlsen.  We study at the music conservatory.  Your fifty
kroner will make for pleasant meal."

   "Your music has made a pleasant afternoon," I said.  "I also studied
music." I glanced at Stoney.  He had his 'here we go again' look.

   "You did?  Really?" Anna asked.

   "Yes.  Flute, as a matter of fact."

   "Where did you study?"

   I named my university in Houston.

   "Is it good?  We hear so much about American musicians and study."

   I guess I straightened up a little.  "I was a concert soloist.  I've
been playing since I was nine.  I'd love to play that Mozart piece you were
doing."

   She smiled.  Little twist to it, so I was reading 'Lets see this
American princess show her stuff.' I think Stoney saw it too, but Stoney
knows that this is a favorite piece of mine and I like to think I nail it.

   She wiped off the mouthpiece of her flute.  I put it to my lips, rolled
up and down a chromatic scale then a few arpeggios to feel the action, then
I smiled.  "This is a very good flute.  How do you wish to start?"

   "Sven, Arne?  Shall we play with our American friend?" she said.  I
caught the wink.  Maybe she was trying to be subtle, maybe not.  They
picked up their instruments.  I took my place beside them.  She raised her
hands like a conductor.  "En, to, tre..."

   Okay, that's what the wink was for.  They picked up the pace a bit from
their previous performance.  If that was an idea to blindside me, they
picked wrongly.  MY arena.  I channeled old Master Gottlieb's instruction
when I LEARNED this piece at his kindly but relentless tutelage.

   They were ripping along smartly and I was hanging in there in my comfort
zone.  A few measures into the piece when I hit my second favorite passage
I started tripling the notes on the arpeggios.  A crowd started gathering.
I saw Anna sidle next to Stoney and speak.  He smiled and nodded.  Spoke
back.

   We finished the number to applause.  Anna smiled.  "I'm sorry.  I
thought you might be, how do you say, 'posing'?"

   I smiled right back.  "About music?  Never!  You and Arne and Sven play
beautifully.  I appreciate the chance to share.  And now I can say that I
have played in Oslo." I can do 'sweet'.  "Now I wish that Stoney had
brought his banjo.  He plays well, too."

   "Stoney plays banjo?" Arne asked.

   Time to nail Stoney (again).  I thought it was safe, just brag about him
a little bit.  After all, he IS my Stoney.  "Yes.  He and I and a few
others have done small concerts."

   Arne turned to Anna and my meager Norwegian wasn't up to following the
conversation.  Anna turned to me.  "I'm sorry, but you are truthful in that
he is good?  Would he play with you here?"

   "What did you just do, angel?" Stoney asked soto voce.

   I replied softly, "Where are they going to find a banjo in Oslo?"

   Silly me.  Musicians.  YOUNG musicians.  Of course there's a banjo
somewhere in Oslo.

   "Arne can get a banjo.  Rather quickly.  If you wait?"

   "Here we go," Stoney said.  "This is how it happens."

   "How it happens?" Arne asked him.

   "Wonderful things happen.  My wife exists, lives, in a world of
wonderful things."

   "Anna does as well," he smiled.

   We chatted for a bit.  Heard a small motorcycle buzzing.  It stopped and
another young man brought us a banjo.  "Is this sufficient?  I am ...  I
did not spend a lot of money on it.  Banjo is not my normal instrument.  I
play trumpet."

   "It is beautiful," Stoney said.  "I started with something not nearly
this good.  Thank you." He sat back down on the stone wall and said,
"Somebody give me a 'G'." And he tuned it.  He turned to the owner.  "You
have this one set up very well."

   The guy smiled.  "Thank you.  I am Tor." Stoney rose, shook his hand
formally.  "Tor, you are the first Norsk banjo player I have ever met."

   "There are not many of us," Tor grinned.

   Stoney sat back down, hit a chord, then Foggy Mountain Breakdown came
screaming out of that banjo, incongruous in the land of Grieg.  Tor grinned
broadly.

   Anna looked amused.  "Ahhh, American bluegrass.  The music of your
mountains."

   "Yes," Stoney said.  He looked around.  One thing about the ring of a
banjo: it's a sound all its own.  The crowd started drifting up again. 
"One more?" Stoney questioned.

   "Ja!  Yes!  Please!" came from the crowd.

   Stoney grinned, launched off into "Wreck of Old 97", then I motioned for
Anna to let me have her flute and Stoney and I did a couple of Irish reels.

   When we finished, the crowd applauded.  I noted a few more kroner
finding their way into the cello case.  I turned to Anna.  "Do you know
Mozart's Concerto for Flute and Harp?"

   "Yes.  But we have no harp."

   I motioned to Stoney.  "Harp."

   "Noooo," Tor said.  "Is not possible."

   "Is possible," Stoney said.  He looked at me.  "Shall we?"

   We played.  I love playing with Stoney, and I love seeing that OUR music
makes others happy.

   When we finished the Mozart piece, I handed the flute back to Anna and I
smiled.  "Sorry.  We didn't mean to hijack your concert." I reached into my
shoulder bag and pulled out a Rara Avis card.

   "You do this professionally?" Arne asked, looking at the card in Anna's
hand.

   "Oh, certainly not," I said.  "One can hardly make a living doing
something like this.  We do it because we like doing it."

   I heard the sound of the banjo.  Stoney was sitting beside Tor, giving
him a lesson.

   "Do you have a favorite restaurant?  I think we'd like to treat you and
your friends to dinner."

   Sven elbowed Arne, said something in Norsk that I didn't get, then a
number.  He switched to English.  "There is six hundred kroner, maybe more,
there.  We can buy YOU dinner."

   So that's how we had dinner with a bunch of Norwegian music students. 
Good dinner, too.  And although neither Stoney nor I are regular drinkers,
we did beer and wine and a shot of some kind of hard stuff that we were
assured was a national tradition.

   "Akvavit!" Sven assured us.  "You must have akvavit for this celebration
of music and friends."

   Stoney shook his head.  "Students!" he coughed.  "Norwegian jello
shots."

   Amid laughter and handshakes and hugs we finally declared our need to
depart.  We let a taxi bring us back to our hotel.  Cursed small shower,
but we do manage.

   In Stoney's arms, still buzzed, a sloppy kiss, then another and we've
never made love drunk but there are some things that pierce the alcoholic
haze quite nicely.

   Uncle Lars saw us away at the airport.  "Serious conversation, Johanna,"
he told me.  "You are expected to return.  The cabin above the fjord, that
is yours for a phone call.  And I know just the boat for you.  Jan tells me
what you have in mind.  If I was forty years younger, I would do the same."

   He turned to Stoney.  "My American nephew!  I am so pleased to find you
taking care of my niece.  Please bring her back to me."

   It's a long flight: fourteen hours.  I'm thankful that we had the money
for first class.  We had legroom and a little room to stretch and change
positions and a little room to cuddle and worry about jet lag, then through
customs and shuttle ride to our car and finally a zigzag through traffic
and HOME!  Our apartment.  Everything's intact.

   You know, when Stoney started this story, he was alone with his ghosts.
Now it's me and my Stoney, and that whole idea about a Monday to Friday,
nine to five existence is in our rear-view mirror except when HE needs to
be an engineer and I need to be a musician.

   And we step off into the light together.

   C'est tout!

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   ------ The End ------ Posted: 2012-12-30 Last Modified: 2014-06-07 /
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